


Observer Effect

by laughter_now



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Aliens, Episode Remix, Episode: Observer Effect, Infection, M/M, Mind Control, Star Trek: Enterprise - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-19
Updated: 2012-07-19
Packaged: 2017-11-10 07:06:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 37,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/463555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laughter_now/pseuds/laughter_now
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's something down on that planet. Something no human ever encountered before. The Observers have watched many species fight it. And there is only one common thread to all those encounters - someone always dies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own anything associated with the Star Trek franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
> 
> This is an AOS remix of the Enterprise episode "Observer Effect" (Season 4, episode 11). I changed some, or rather quite a bit of the dialogue from the original episode, especially the conversations between the Observers, to avoid this becoming a mere rewrite. Even if the basic gist of that dialogue remains the same, it would have become a little boring to just copy the original dialogue from the episode.
> 
> First posted to my lj on September 20th, 2010.

**_Prologue_**  
  
  
It was the middle of beta shift, and the mess hall was empty save for a group of ensigns from Stellar Cartography who were occupying a table in the back.  
  
Nyota Uhura and Hikaru Sulu were the only other crewmembers in the room with them, occupying a small table at the far side of the room together, their half-eaten meals standing in front of them. It wasn't unusual for the two of them to share a meal together. The senior officers aboard the ship had a tendency to gravitate towards one another during these everyday routines. So while it wasn't a regular sight to see Uhura and Sulu eat together, it also wasn't a sight that raised eyebrows anywhere.   
  
However, their meal was over now and Uhura eyed her plate with something that an innocent bystander might have labeled suspicion.  
  
"The need for nourishment is puzzling. Especially since apparently the satisfaction of that physical need is often turned into a social encounter."  
  
Sulu seemed unperturbed by the statement.  
  
"Physical existence requires some form of physical nourishment in all of the previously recorded cases. And seventy-nine percent of the species we encountered so far have shared that connection between physical needs and social connection in one form or the other." He cast a look at the ensigns across the room. "Just look at them. The time required to gain the sustenance their physical forms only makes up thirty percent of the time they spend here to take their meals. The rest of the time is wasted with social bonding instead of productivity. It's a cycle that repeats itself every day, like clockwork. Within the next five minutes, these crewmembers are going to return to their posts, charting an expanse of space and labeling it as _new_ even though it has been known to other species for hundreds of millennia already."  
  
Uhura cocked her head to the side. "Their average lifespan only lasts for about a hundred and ten years. Their chance to discover a section of space that could be labeled _unknown_ even by our standards are practically nonexistent. The journey alone would outlast their lifespan multiple times."  
  
Sulu shook his head. "It's a pity, really."  
  
"Careful," Uhura replied, somewhat sharply. At Sulu's somewhat startled expression, she bore her gaze into his. "No emotional involvement."  
  
Sulu nodded. "Of course. Observation without interference. I am aware of the protocol."  
  
"Good."  
  
They kept watching the group of ensigns for a few moments, observing the animated chatter over the remains of their dessert, until Sulu turned back towards Uhura.  
  
"The last shuttles from the surface are due back soon. We should return to the Bridge for that occurrence."  
  
"You're right."  
  
With one last glance at the ensigns, Sulu frowned slightly. "How do you think they are going to react to what's on that planet?"  
  
Uhura flicked her ponytail away from her shoulder. "In my experience, most humanoid species react in a similar way. The difference lies only in the time span it takes them to realize that they really only have one option left."  
  
"Do you think they are going to die tonight?" Sulu asked, nodding his head towards the other side of the room where the ensigns were currently gathering up the remains of their meal as they prepared to leave.  
  
Uhura seemed completely unmoved by that question.  
  
"Who knows? But someone always dies. Maybe it will be them, or maybe it will be our hosts. We will see very soon. But now I think it is time for us to return to the Bridge."  
  
Sulu nodded, and they gathered their trays and got up, leaving the mess hall empty behind them as they left.  
  
  


*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

  
  
  
"Shuttle _Gilliam_ to Enterprise."  
  
"Enterprise here," Jim's voice responded to Chekov's call. "I take it the trip to the surface was interesting. We were already worried the two of you didn't want to return to the ship at all."  
  
In the back seat of the shuttle, Leonard rolled his eyes at his friend's more than just informal teasing over the comm. It really wasn't as if he and Chekov had actually wanted to be the last team to return to Enterprise from this excursion. But the young Ensign was just too damn excitable about everything, even if all they had found this time was nothing but a dump of Klingon equipment.  
  
"Negative, Keptin," Chekov replied. "But we decided to investigate the remains the Klingons left in the Northern sector in order to find out why they abandoned the planet without taking their equipment."  
  
Leonard huffed a laugh at the term _equipment_. It might have been, before time and decay had turned it into a technical junkyard. Still, it was a mystery. And if there was one thing Jim loved above everything else, it was a good mystery to occupy his mind with. Even now, his voice sounded excited as it sounded from the speaker.  
  
"And? Barring your later report, what did you find?"  
  
"Junk," Leonard spat out before Chekov even had the chance to get into an excited ramble about technical details. He'd much rather the young man focused his entire concentration on flying them safely back aboard Enterprise than on spewing out a ridiculous amount of technical data that nobody but Jim could even follow. Chekov could get all bouncy about what kind of scanning gear the Klingons had left behind once they were safely back inside the tin can. "A whole lot of it."  
  
"Corrosion analysis suggests that the metals and alloys have been exposed for twenty standard months at the least," Chekov fell in, his excitement thickening the remains of his accent slightly. "I will conduct further experiments to narrow it down as soon as I get back aboard."  
  
"Any sign of why the Klingons abandoned the site?"  
  
"Nothing our instruments could detect. No signs of pathogens in the air or the preliminary water and soil samples, either."  
  
Leonard didn't understand why the Klingons had abandoned the planet so hastily that they had left all their equipment behind. And even more so, he didn't understand why _he_ of all people had to go down to the planet's surface when every member of the science department could have taken those scans and samples. It wasn't as if he was just sitting on his ass all day. He had plenty of work to do, even without an immediate medical crisis on his hands. But Jim had insisted that every member of the senior crew get enough away mission time under their belts, and apparently in Leonard's case that meant he had to spend that time rooting around in what had essentially become a Klingon dump. Just his luck.  
  
"Well, I'll see the two of you in a few minutes then. Enterprise out."  
  
Chekov ended the transmission and entered a few commands into the console, preparing the shuttle to approach Enterprise's docking bay. It was all routine, and while Leonard still didn't feel comfortable at the mere thought of being on a shuttle, he couldn't deny that by now he could feel that routine as well. He was a far cry from comfortable, but relaxed enough that he could lean back in his seat and start thinking about the tests they'd need to run on the samples they had collected. He looked up, however, when Chekov turned in the pilot's seat and coughed dryly into his hand.  
  
Immediately, Leonard straightened up in his seat.  
  
"You all right, Chekov?"  
  
The young navigator nodded quickly. "Of course. Lot of dust on the surface. It makes my throat dry."  
  
He went back to fingering the consoles, and Leonard leaned back in his seat once more, even though he wasn't entirely pacified by Chekov's answer. Neither of them had been coughing while they were on the surface, and they had been in the shuttle for about ten minutes now without any signs of symptoms. He thought it was unlikely that Chekov's coughing had anything to do with dust from the planet's atmosphere.  
  
"We are approaching the Docking Bay, do…"  
  
Whatever Chekov had wanted to add was swallowed by another coughing fit, harsher and longer this time. Leonard undid his safety harness and was at the younger man's side without a second thought about it.  
  
"Chekov, what's going on?"  
  
Chekov wanted to answer, but couldn't get a word in between the wracking coughs. Leonard was about to turn around and get his tricorder, but before he could even take one step Chekov gripped him by the arms with surprising strength and gestured towards the pilot's chair. Leonard was too stunned to do anything but move into the direction he was pushed into. Chekov was already brusing past him, falling to his knees in the space behind the seats, his whole body now wracked by coughs.  
  
The doctor in Leonard was screaming to fall into the well-known motions, locating the tricorder and performing a standard scan, an injection of antitussives to stop the dry and obviously painful coughs until he had figured out their cause. But he was acutely aware that they were aboard an unpiloted shuttle with the landing sequence already initiated, and that he had to take care of that first before he could even think about acting as a doctor.  
  
Chekov was red in the face and still coughing violently, but he seemed to be able to breathe. For now, that had to be enough.  
  
Leonard slid into the pilot's seat and hit the comm button without conscious thought.  
  
"McCoy to Enterprise. We have a medical emergency."  
  
Jim answered immediately, voice laced with concern.  
  
"What happened?"  
  
"Chekov collapsed," Leonard replied courtly, aware that Jim and the entire Bridge crew would be able to hear Chekov hacking up a lung in the background. "Alert Medical and have M'Benga prepare for a full examination of Chekov's respiratory system as soon as we get aboard. Clear the Landing Bay and prepare Decon. If this is something viral or bacterial, we need to figure out what it is before it spreads across the entire ship."  
  
"Understood," Jim replied. "It'll be taken care of, you just focus on getting back aboard safely."  
  
Leonard suppressed a suffering sigh as he tried to familiarize with controls he hadn't used since his time at the Academy.  
  
"Bones." Jim's voice sounded slightly insecure now. "Can you fly her back safely?"  
  
It was like driving a bike, Leonard assumed. A bike he had never been particularly fond of, but one he had learned to ride during long, painful lessons. He didn't particularly want to do it, but he hadn't forgotten how to pilot a shuttle. His flying wasn't going to win him any prizes, but he was fairly sure he wasn't going to kill them, either.  
  
"Not like I've got any other choice, Jim. Chekov already initiated the landing sequence, I only need to get her in through the doors and touch her down. I think I'll manage."  
  
"Good. Slow and steady, Bones. I'll see you in the Landing Bay."  
  
"Decon, Jim," Leonard reminded him. "Until we know this isn't contagious, nobody's going to breach isolation."  
  
"Understood. Kirk out."  
  
Leonard ended the transmission and focused on the controls in front of him. He couldn't help but feel a small rush of pride about the fact that his hands weren't shaking as he handled the controls. And if his palms were slick with sweat…well, nobody needed to know about that.  
  
Chekov was still coughing and wheezing behind him as Leonard checked the landing sequence the young navigator had entered into the computer. After a moment of deliberation, he corrected the angle of their approach slightly. This was easier than a lot of the obligatory simulations Leonard had passed during the Academy, but still his heart was beating fast in his chest as the shuttle glided through the Landing Bay doors.  
  
Leonard saw three crewmembers in EV suits waiting for them, and he felt relieved that his concerns about keeping them in isolation were taken seriously.  
  
"Hold on, Chekov," he said to the young man in the back who was still coughing dryly in between heaving breaths. "We're nearly home."  
  
His only response was loud retching, followed by the sound of liquid splattering against the floor panels.  
  
Just great, Leonard thought as he set the shuttle down a little harder than the landing sequence normally entailed. It was never going to make it into the top ten of Starfleet's most beautiful shuttle landings, but Leonard couldn't care less. As soon as they were safely back on the ground, he turned off the engines and was out of his seat. Just as he pulled out his tricorder and stepped up to Chekov's side, the young ensign convulsed and threw up again.  
  
Just fucking great.  
  
This was going to become a long night.


	2. Chapter 2

**_Chapter 1_**  
  
  
The decon chamber left a lot to be desired as far as interior decoration went. Two narrow bunks, an even narrower gap in between those, a door to one side leading off towards the head. The whole room was bathed in a slightly bluish light, and while Leonard knew that decon hadn't been built for comfort, he couldn't help but think that even the main room of Medical would have felt more comfortable and reassuring right now.  
  
Chekov had walked in here under his own power, but it had been a wobbly affair, and by now the young Navigator was slumped down on one of the bunks, his head leaned into his hands as he tried to breathe as deeply and regularly as possible. Leonard itched to get his hands on a tricorder and start examining him already, but he knew that the chamber's sensors were taking their readings now, and M'Benga was probably busy already with giving those the first once-over.  
  
Starfleet protocol clearly stated that if a ship's CMO was medically incapacitated, the next highest ranking medical officer stepped up temporarily. M'Benga was Acting CMO until Leonard was out of decon and officially cleared for duty. It was hard to accept, but Leonard had the feeling his role right now was that of a potential patient, and not that of a doctor.  
  
He didn't like it one bit.  
  
And just because they didn't give him a tricorder or a medical scanner didn't mean he had to stop being a doctor, damn it. Crouching down next to Chekov, Leonard carefully put a hand on the younger man's shoulder, feeling the tense muscles tremble slightly underneath his palm.  
  
"How are you feeling, Chekov?"  
  
The younger man shrugged. "Not good."  
  
"What about the nausea? You think you're going to be sick again?"  
  
Chekov shook his head slightly, as if he was afraid of too much motion. "No, not right now."  
  
"Good." Leonard gave Chekov's shoulder a squeeze, even as his mind ran through the possible causes for the younger man's symptoms. There were plenty reasons for nausea and vomiting if he disregarded the coughing, but his gut told him that the coughing was an integral part of whatever was wrong with Chekov. And with those combined symptoms, suddenly the list of possible causes was getting shorter. Damn, but he needed a real tricorder to get some additional readings.  
  
Leonard straightened up as movement in front of the glass panel announced they had visitors. He wasn't surprised to see that it was M'Benga and Jim who stopped in front of the see-through panel. M'Benga's face was carefully neutral, but Leonard could clearly see the worry in Jim's eyes as they immediately zoned in on Chekov's slumped form. Normally, Jim was good at masking his emotions, but Leonard knew him too well for that.  
  
"Chekov, how are you feeling?"  
  
The navigator raised his head and actually tried to straighten his slumped posture as he heard his Captain's voice. Leonard didn't know if he was supposed to laugh or shake his head at the false bravado the young man displayed. After over three years out here in the black, Chekov should know that Jim was not the kind of CO who needed those displays.  
  
"I'm good, Sir. I will be fine."  
  
Jim just nodded, but he turned towards Leonard, one eyebrow raised in silent question. But without any medical equipment on his hands, Leonard could only guess.  
  
"The coughing lasted for just a couple of minutes. He threw up twice while on the shuttle; that's all I know." He turned towards M'Benga. "What do the scans say?"  
  
M'Benga shrugged. "All standard scans came back clean, and none of the other teams showed any symptoms when they returned from the surface. I'm going to need blood samples from both of you to run a more detailed analysis."  
  
"Scotty has a team take apart the shuttle as we speak," Jim added. "In an hour or two we will know if any of the environmental filters are responsible for Chekov's reaction."  
  
Leonard could only imagine the mixture of near physical pain and complete excitement the Chief Engineer had to feel at the task of taking an entire shuttle apart. And it meant that everything that could be done about this was being done. There was just one thing…  
  
"Have them take a sample before they hose down and decontaminate the shuttle floor. If the blood samples yield no result, it might be that whatever caused this can only be detected in the intestinal tract."  
  
M'Benga nodded. "I've already requested them to take samples." He held up the two silver cases in his hands. "For now, I'm going to need those blood samples."  
  
He put the cases into the small airlock drawer that allowed for items to be transferred into the isolated decon chamber. Leonard stepped up to the slot, but as he reached out to pull the cases out a cough suddenly tore free from his chest, and he reflexively brought up his hand to cover his mouth. It was just one cough at first, but as soon as he drew a breath to try and assure M'Benga and a more and more worried-looking Jim that it was nothing, the coughing started for real.  
  
It sounded just like Chekov's earlier hacking had, and it tore painfully at the muscles in his chest. Distantly, Leonard was aware of voices talking to him, but he was too focused on the task of trying to draw breath in between the wracking coughs to really pay attention to what they were saying. His fingers were clamping down tightly on something – what, he had no idea, maybe the airlock slot he had been standing in front of him – as his knees gave out and he sank to the floor. He didn't know for how long it lasted, but only once the coughing abated somewhat could he even try to form a response. Although he thought that the ' _I'm fine_ ' he was planning on saying was going to be overly convincing.  
  
"Doctor, are you feeling better? Can you breathe?"  
  
Leonard tried to nod, and he only noticed Chekov's hand on his shoulder when he dislodged it in an attempt to get up. He drew breath to give a more verbal reply, but the bile was rising in his throat and it was all Leonard could do to push open the door to the head and fall to his knees in front of the toilet before his earlier lunch was making an unbidden reappearance. It tasted like acid in his mouth, and his stomach was heaving painfully. It took some long minutes before both his stomach and his legs started feeling steady enough for him to get up and splash some cold water on his face.  
  
When he stumbled more than walked out of the head, he was surprised to see that M'Benga and Jim were still standing in front of the observation window. Jim was no longer doing anything to hide his concern, and M'Benga was watching his every movement carefully. Chekov, Leonard noticed, was holding both silver sample cases against his chest as if he was searching for something to hold on to. And if the kid was freaking out, Leonard couldn't afford to do the same. Besides, it wasn't as if that was going to help them any, and at least one of them should try to keep a clear head while they tried to figure out what was going on. So Leonard forced his legs to move more steadily than he actually felt. He went over, took the sample cases from Chekov and turned towards the observation window with one eyebrow raised.  
  
"Well, I'd say it's safe to assume that whatever Chekov has, I got it, too. I'll get you those blood samples now, and you'd better keep me updated about the results."  
  
M'Benga nodded, and Jim too seemed somewhat relieved at the fact that Leonard was trying to take charge now despite his sudden display of symptoms. Known patterns and behavior, that was always a source of reassurance. Well, not for Chekov who still seemed scared out of his wits, but one thing after another. First the blood samples, then Leonard could worry about getting Chekov calmed down. And then maybe someone was finally going to get him a damn tricorder in here.  
  
With any luck, it was only a minor bacterial infection and they'd be out of here after a quick run of antibiotics.  
  
Who knew, they might be back in their own quarters as early as tonight already.  
  
  


*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

  
  
  
The corridors on D-deck were empty as Uhura and Sulu got out of the turbolift and turned towards the decontamination area.  
  
"They brought the infected crewmembers aboard," Sulu remarked. "It's surprising."  
  
Uhura just shook her head.  
  
"Not at all, really."  
  
"It is more than the Klingons did when they came here."  
  
Uhura inclined her head in acknowledgment. "True. But you have to consider that the Landing Bay and the decontamination area are completely isolated from the rest of the ship."  
  
"So they don't pose a threat to the rest of the crew, even though they have been brought aboard." Sulu stopped for a moment, contemplating that point. "The remaining crew is not exposed to the infection."  
  
Uhura stopped beside him, her wrists crossed behind her back. "Indeed. So you see that it really is nothing different from what the Klingons did. They don't let the infected crewmembers get anywhere near the rest of the crew. I've been watching alien species for centuries, and it's always the same. Humans are no exception. They do not want to mingle with the sick, and they don't want to confront the dying."  
  
"Maybe the humans are going to surprise us."  
  
Uhura shook her head and resumed walking down the corridor. "In over eight hundred years of observation, I have yet to be surprised. The humans won't be any different. If it weren't for protocol, I would suggest we stop our observation right now. They are not going to act any different than the other physical species we encountered before."  
  
They reached an intersection, and Sulu quickened his steps to catch up with her as they turned down the left-hand corridor.  
  
"They are showing concern for their infected crewmembers. That's different from the Klingons."  
  
Uhura's eyebrows rose high on her forehead at the statement.  
  
"So did the Cardassians. And the Andorians. But remember that in the end, they killed their infected crewmembers, too. The only difference to the Klingons was the amount of time they needed to come to that decision. From all we've seen so far, the level of human development does not suggest that they will be any different. But we have a protocol to follow."  
  
They reached the door leading into the decon area, and Uhura stopped.  
  
"You go and talk to the infected crewmembers. I shall go and see how far their doctor has progressed in his analysis."  
  
Sulu nodded and they parted ways, him turning towards the decon area while she walked to take the nearby turbolift that would take her to the Main Medical Bay.  
  
Sulu headed over towards the observation window that would grant him visual access to the two contaminated crewmembers. A navigator and the ship's CMO. The latter especially was an interesting development they would have to make note of in their report. In most of the cases they observed, the doctor played a large part in the crew's reaction to the infection.  
  
Now, the main doctor was infected himself, and that changed some of the standard parameters of their observation. They would have to invest some research and determine in how far it influenced the humans' struggle against the infection. If there was a huge gap between the abilities of the main doctor and his replacement, it might exert a significant influence over the humans' progress in searching for a cure.  
  
As he stepped up in front of the window, he could see that the two crewmembers were still in the early stages of infection. Their skin was pale, and their faces were covered in sweat. As he stepped up, the doctor was just injecting the navigator with a hypospray. He caught the tail-end of their conversation as he stopped in front of the window.  
  
"…a cough-suppressant."  
  
"We're not coughing anymore," the navigator replied after the injection was done. "That could mean we're getting better, yes?"  
  
The doctor had his back turned towards the other man as he injected himself with the same medication. His answer was a grunt that wasn't committal in either the affirmative or the negative, but judged by the expression on his face, he was very well aware of the fact that their infection might be a more serious matter.  
  
The doctor was busy putting away the hypospray, but as he turned to sit back down he finally noticed the presence in front of the observation window. He seemed a little startled at first, then took a step back with a roll of his eyes.  
  
"Sulu. Damn it, what are you doing here sneaking up on us?"  
  
The navigator raised his head at the doctor's words, and his eyes widened with a small smile as he caught glance of him standing in front of the observation window.  
  
"Hikaru! What are you doing here?"  
  
The social protocol of human interaction was hard to grasp even despite all the research they had put into humans as soon as the ship had approached the sector. Apparently, the navigator had a closer connection to his host than he was aware of, and he knew that it would be expected of him to act upon that. But seeing that he had no additional information on the matter, he decided to forego that in favour of following protocol. It was what they were here for, after all. And this was as good a chance as any to find out if humans were any different from the other species they had observed before.  
  
"I came here to ask about your condition. What was in that hypospray you just administered?"  
  
The navigator seemed taken aback, a clear sign that this hadn't been the reaction expected of him on a social level. The doctor merely seemed confused, bordering on exasperated.  
  
"Cough-suppressant, something against the nausea and muscle pain. Why, you wanna make a second career in medicine now?"  
  
He inclined his head to the side. Humans were difficult. It was hard to gauge what kind of reaction they expected, and their physical forms had simply too many varieties of expression. For the observers, this combination of speech and body language was obsolete and made things unnecessarily complicated.  
  
"I'm curious. You are a doctor, how would you compare this experience to other serious illnesses you witnessed?"  
  
The doctor's face darkened at the question, so maybe it was best to involve the navigator a little more in the conversation. He didn't have the medical knowledge to put into his answers, but he seemed more approachable than the doctor did.  
  
"Did any of you ever suffer from serious illness before?"  
  
The navigator's eyes widened remarkably, and before he could even ask another question in hopes of an answer, the doctor stepped up to the observation window and blocked his view of the room.  
  
"Well Sulu, it's awfully nice of you to drop by, but we're a little busy here right now. Shouldn't you be on duty now?"  
  
He thought he might get another question in before the conversation was cut off completely, but before he could get a single word out, the doctor was speaking again.  
  
"I'm sure the Captain is going to keep all senior officers advised of the situation. Thanks for dropping by, anyway."  
  
And with those gruff words, the doctor hit a button on the console and the observation window polarized, effectively blocking all visual access to the decontamination chamber.  
  
It was too bad, really. Firsthand accounts were always so much more valuable than a belated analysis of the video feed. But his partner had been doing these observations for a number of centuries by now, maybe he had gotten more lucky talking to the ship's other doctor.  
  
Turning around, he retraced his steps the way he had come. It was time to regroup and consider their next steps.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 2**  
  
  
It felt a lot like the symptoms of a bad flu, Leonard thought. Exhaustion, a fever that caused him to sweat, random muscle aches and a general feeling of being unwell. He knew what had been in the hyposprays he had administered earlier, and if those symptoms remained despite the muscle relaxant and the pain killers, then he was glad not to have to suffer through this without medical aid.  
  
Not knowing when the moment of infection had occurred, there was no sure way to tell, but from the appearance of the symptoms it seemed that Chekov was a little farther along in the infection's progress. His symptoms had shown up earlier, and by now he was cowering on his bunk looking for all the world like a miserable heap. Leonard felt bad, but not that bad yet. It might be that Chekov had gotten infected earlier and Leonard had in turn gotten infected by the young navigator, or maybe Chekov's slighter built and different metabolism was the cause of their diverging progress of the infection.  
  
Leonard wouldn't know, because nobody had deigned to get him a damn tricorder yet.  
  
It was obvious that Chekov was not only suffering from the infection, but that he was also scared out of his wits by what was happening to them, no matter how much he tried to hide it. Three years in space and all the battles and trials that came long with it or not, Chekov was still young. He might have seen a lot over the past years, but this was the first time Leonard could think of that something like this had ever happened to him directly. Hell, it was normal to be scared in a situation like this. Leonard didn't need his degree in psychology to know that much. And the silence was only going to make it worse.  
  
Not that it was easy finding a topic of conversation with someone he normally didn't interact with often outside of work. Looking around the room, he picked the most obvious thing to come to mind, hoping that things were going to progress from there.  
  
"Starfleet really needs to reconsider their interior design," he grumbled.  
  
Chekov looked up, eyes widening in silent question. Leonard gestured around the decon chamber.  
  
"This here looks way too much like my dorm room at Starfleet Academy. Bare, uncomfortable, and small enough that you can't turn around without bumping into something."  
  
Chekov smiled slightly. "I wouldn't know. I never lived in a Starfleet dormitory."  
  
Right. Chekov had been seventeen by the time Enterprise had first disembarked. So even if he had breezed through his Academy courses at a speed faster than even Jim, he must have been awfully young by the time he joined up. As a minor, it was likely that Starfleet had allowed Chekov to live with his parents, in an apartment somewhere on or even off campus. A great way to make the kid even more of an outsider, prodigy or not. As if going to classes with fellow students ten years his senior wasn't bad enough. Sometimes, Leonard couldn't understand what those people in Starfleet Administration were thinking.  
  
"Right, you didn't. Well, let me tell then you that this is _exactly_ what a Starfleet dorm room looks like, so it's not like you missed out on anything."  
  
Chekov shrugged. "I did go to boarding school in Moscow before I joined Starfleet. Our room was even smaller than this one, and I shared it with three other students."  
  
Despite his pale face and the sweat marring his forehead, Chekov's voice held the same tone it always did when he was telling them how everything even remotely useful had been _inwented in Russia_ , and Leonard felt an indulgent smile spread across his face. He didn't quite believe that Chekov wasn't already starting to exaggerate, but if there was one thing they had right now, then it was time on their hands for some storytelling. He leaned back against the wall to give his aching muscles some respite.  
  
"A Russian boarding school, huh?"  
  
Chekov nodded eagerly, wrapping his blanket around his shoulders as he sat up straighter. He seemed to regain some of his usual energy while speaking, even if he still looked like death warmed over.  
  
"Da. It was part of an advanced program after I finished school."  
  
"When was that?"  
  
"When I was twelve."  
  
Of course. Chekov had finished school and started advanced studies at the age of twelve, and was through with his education at Starfleet at seventeen. Leonard had been on the fast track in college and med school, as well, but this…this was a whole different league.  
  
"So you went through these advanced programs until you joined Starfleet."  
  
Chekov shook his head and pulled the blanket a little more tightly around himself.  
  
"No. I went there for two years, until the school board expelled me."  
  
Leonard thought he hadn't heard right. But Chekov merely leaned back in his own bunk and continued to wrap the blanket around himself in an elaborate cocoon, not making any move to give an explanation.  
  
"I sure hope you weren't just planning on leaving it at that, Chekov. How on earth did you manage to get yourself expelled at the shy age of fourteen?"  
  
Chekov shrugged. "The school said it was misconduct. But it is not misconduct if the school rules are worded to leave loopholes, yes?"  
  
Leonard snorted weakly. He wondered if Jim had ever talked to Chekov privately like this. He had the distinct feeling he would appreciate Chekov's outlook on rules.  
  
"What did you do?"  
  
"Nothing. Well, the school board said different, but they were clearly wrong. According to the official school rules, the house rules of the dormitory and the school rules were two different things. Dormitory rules only applied to the student housing area, not to the school buildings or during the times the students attend classes. So if for example the dormitory rules state that no gambling is allowed, it only applies to gambling in the dorms. There is no rule that forbids gambling in the school buildings, during school hours. So clearly, there is no reason to expel a student for misconduct of gambling if it doesn't take place in the dormitories."  
  
Leonard couldn't believe his ears.  
  
"You ran a gambling ring? When you were fourteen?"  
  
Chekov shook his head emphatically, curls bouncing on his head where they weren't plastered to his forehead with sweat.  
  
"Njet, I did not. But there's many great sports that are played in Russia. Sports with great tradition. Football, for example. Most people in Russia are very committed to their sports."  
  
Leonard snorted. "You were placing bets."  
  
"It was good practice. Calculating the odds, taking all influencing factors into consideration, calculating the winnings and keeping track, it's pure mathematics. Good training for practical application of the theory we were taught. But of course the school board saw it differently."  
  
Leonard laughed and shook his head. "You were a bookie. I can't believe it. Pavel Chekov, youngest bookie in the whole Federation."  
  
Chekov shook his head. "The youngest who got caught, maybe. But I told you Doctor, they had no grounds. School rules didn't explicitly forbid gambling, and nothing was ever done in the dormitory buildings. Clearly, they were wrong to expel me. Also, I never took wagers bigger than two credits. It was for fun more than it was for the money. I think the instructor who caught me was angry I didn't invite him to participate, is all."  
  
And really, if Jim didn't know about this side of the young navigator by now, it was about high time he did. He was going to love this story. At least now Leonard now knew that the next time word about a betting pool somewhere aboard reached his ears, he'd have to expand his own pool of possible suspects.  
  
"So what happened then?"  
  
Once more, Chekov shrugged. "That school didn't want me, but Starfleet did. They made me an offer to join, my parents agreed, and so I did. Three years later, I graduated and got my assignment on Enterprise."  
  
Leonard shook his head with a smile. They should have moments like this more often, just maybe without the infection and subsequent isolation. He couldn't quite believe that after three years of serving together, he hadn't known that particular story. Maybe he should spend some more time with the young navigator once this whole mess was over. It sure sounded like it could be fun.  
  
Now they only needed to figure out a way to get them out of here.  
  
  


*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

  
  
  
Jim stared at the display on the screen in front of him, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. His brain was still reeling with everything that had happened over the past hour, but no matter how much he tried, he still couldn't wrap his mind around it.  
  
It had seemed like such an easy mission, for crying out loud. An M-class planet, an apparently abandoned Klingon site in the northern quadrant, no indigenous predators or other dangers that their scanners could detect. Only the question why the Klingons had decided to abandon the planet. And all landing parties had come back with plenty of test results and samples to further examine. All part of the routine. That is, until Chekov had collapsed aboard that shuttle, and now Chekov and Bones were in isolation, their condition was steadily getting worse, and nothing made sense anymore.  
  
Until now, maybe, because M'Benga had called Jim down to Medical saying that he had the first results. But judged by the expression on his face, it wasn't anything good by all means. Even Spock, who was standing in the background with his hands clasped behind his back in his customary position seemed unsettled, and for a Vulcan to show anything but perfect composure, things had to be worrisome indeed. Not that most people could read his First Officer as well as Jim could, but still.  
  
He had the feeling the sucker punch to the gut was going to come very soon.  
  
"We have the first results," M'Benga said, gesturing towards the screen where an image of Chekov's blood sample was amplified so much that the individual blood cells could be seen. Floating in between them, standing out almost obscenely, was what Jim guessed was the cause for this whole mess.  
  
M'Benga pointed to the screen, and the foreign particles in Chekov's blood.  
  
"Judged by the symptoms and its reproductive rate, the closest approximation we could come up with is a virus. It's highly contagious. And it's silicon-based."  
  
Jim turned away from the screen to look at M'Benga, thinking he had heard wrong. But even a glance at Spock resulted in nothing but a confirming nod, even though it made no sense whatsoever.  
  
"We're talking about an M-class planet, Doc. All life forms down there should be carbon-based."  
  
M'Benga nodded. "Yes. Which is why we assume for now that the virus is not indigenous to the planet. It would also explain why only one landing party was affected by it. Lieutenant Commander Scott is currently performing detailed scans of the area where Doctor McCoy and Ensign Chekov worked while they were down on the planet; maybe he can shed light on the virus' origin."  
  
Jim didn't particularly care about the virus' origin, at least not for now. That could come later, once he was sure that Bones and Chekov were going to be all right.  
  
"Is there a cure?"  
  
The expression on M'Benga's face was answer enough, but that wasn't an answer Jim was willing to accept.  
  
"Doctor?"  
  
M'Benga shook his head. "We're working on it. But there is nothing comparable in any of our databases."  
  
Jim couldn't help but turn towards Spock at those words, hoping against the sick feeling in his stomach that the Vulcan was going to be able to brighten the perspective on this. But Spock only shook his head.  
  
"I'm sorry, Captain, but as far as I could find there are no reports about anything similar to be found in any of the databases available to us."  
  
"So it's up to you."  
  
That was actually the first reassuring thought, as crazy as it sounded. Jim had absolute faith in Spock's and M'Benga's ability to find a cure against this virus. The only thing that would have been able to assure him completely would be if Bones had been there to work with them, but even so Spock was a genius, and M'Benga was a pretty damn fine doctor even if he stood in Bones' shadow most of the time. They were going to figure this out.  
  
The thought was almost reassuring, until Spock saw the need to see Jim's last statement as a question that had to be answered.  
  
"We are going to do everything we can, Captain. But judged by the pathogen's reproduction rate, Doctor McCoy and Ensign Chekov have less than five hours to live."  
  
For a second, it felt as if the floor was dropping out from under his feet. It was just a moment, a second of shock Jim allowed himself to feel before he got himself back under control, but Spock noticed it. There was no way Spock hadn't noticed it, even if M'Benga hadn't.  
  
Less than five hours.  
  
Bones had less than five hours to live.  
  
Jim felt guilty for thinking about Bones first when Chekov was going through the same thing, but he couldn't help it. He was worried for Chekov, too, but Bones was a different matter. It was…hell, it was _Bones_. Bones was the one fixture in Jim's life he had always been able to rely on, and he refused to accept that this was going to change. Especially not by some alien virus, when all Bones' life was about was getting people out of the same damn predicament he was stuck in right now.  
  
Jim wasn't going to let that happen.  
  
"Do they know about this yet?"  
  
M'Benga shook his head. "No, I wanted to inform you first. But we won't be able to keep this from them for much longer."  
  
Jim nodded, drawing a deep breath in an attempt to find the courage and resolve he was going to need.  
  
"All right. I'll tell them. You two keep working on that cure, and let me know immediately if there's any news."  
  
"Of course, Sir."  
  
M'Benga nodded, and Spock inclined his head slightly. "We will keep you appraised of any progress."  
  
As M'Benga and Spock turned back towards their work, Jim released a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair. There was no way he was going to simply step up to the decon chamber and tell Bones and Chekov that they had less than five hours to live if Spock and M'Benga couldn't come up with a miracle. But it wasn't that easy to keep things from Bones, either. Jim might be able to fool Chekov if he wanted, but not Bones. So he was just going to have to feed them the information bit by bit and hope against hope that Bones wasn't going to ask too many questions.  
  
It sounded easy. Probably, it wasn't going to work, but it was worth a try. It was bad enough that Bones and Chekov knew that they were infected with something M'Benga couldn't immediately figure out a cure for; it wasn't exactly going to make them feel any better to know that it was a virus that was going to kill them within a few short hours.  
  
All the way from Medical Bay to decon, Jim tried to school his face into the most neutral expression he could manage, even though he knew that Bones was going to see through it right away. Still, it couldn't hurt to try.  
  
He was a bit surprised to see that the observation window looking into the decon chamber was polarized. It would only take a simple push of a button to reverse that effect, but Jim figured if Bones and Chekov had chosen to shield themselves from the outside like that, it had a reason. Instead of just barging into what little privacy the two of them had inside that chamber, Jim pressed the chime that would alert them to his presence. Almost immediately, Bones voice answered through the comm.  
  
"Damn it, Sulu, if that's you again…"  
  
"Bones, it's me," Jim cut him off, though admittedly he was surprised that Bones would be ranting at the helmsman like that.  
  
Just a few seconds after that statement, the observation window was depolarized, and Jim almost took a step back in shock at the sight of his best friend. The last time he had seen Bones had been less than an hour ago, but his condition had deteriorated seriously during that time. Bones was pale, and his face was bathed in sweat. Little droplets of sweat actually clung to his temples, and his pupils were blown wide in his hazel irises.  
  
Suddenly, the five-hour deadline was looming more and more dangerously over their heads.  
  
Realizing that it was Jim standing in front of the decon chamber, Bones seemed to sag in a little on himself.  
  
"Jim, promise me something. Next time I volunteer to be on a landing party? Talk me out of it."  
  
Jim almost smiled. "Yes, because you're not a stubborn bastard who can't be talked out of anything once he set his mind to it."  
  
Bones shook his head. "Then clog me one and knock me out. Doctor's orders."  
  
Jim nodded his head towards Chekov, who was lying on his bunk, huddled in his blanket and by all appearances fast asleep.  
  
"How is he?"  
  
Bones looked over his shoulder as if he needed the visual assurance. "Sleeping. The second dose of meds put him out of it pretty quickly. Whatever this is, it seems that it's working a lot faster through his system than mine. At least the meds help with most of the pain, so he can get some rest."  
  
It was now or never. Jim drew a deep breath and looked Bones in the eye.  
  
"M'Benga and Spock found out what's causing these symptoms." Bones raised a silent eyebrow, and in any other situation Jim would have been proud that he hesitated only for a second or two before he continued. "It's a silicon-based virus."  
  
Jim had required further explanation to understand the magnitude of what they were dealing with, but it seemed that Bones didn't have the same problem. As soon as the words left Jim's mouth, his face fell, and for a long moment he stared at the ground silently, before he finally ran his hand over his face with a softly muttered 'damn'.  
  
The sudden urge to explain, to show Bones that they weren't out of options yet overcame Jim, even though he knew that if anyone knew just how fucking serious this was, it was Bones.  
  
"M'Benga and Spock are working on it, Bones."  
  
But Bones only shook his head.  
  
"On what? A cure? It's exo-biology 101, Jim. Humans are carbon-based. Our immune system isn't good for much when it comes to fighting anything based on silicon, so nothing is going to stop this thing from reproducing while M'Benga and Spock are busy with their research. The standard time it takes an experienced scientist to extract a carbon-based virus and develop an antiviral or a radiation treatment that's been through just enough test-runs to justify subjecting a human subject to it is three to five hours. I imagine the small matter of this particular specimen _not_ being carbon-based is going to slow that process down significantly, so don't you tell me that they're _working on it_!"  
  
Bones had been about to talk himself into a rant, but after a quick look over his shoulder to see whether Chekov was still asleep, he drew a deep breath and visibly tried to calm himself.  
  
"What's the deadline?"  
  
Jim swallowed and forced himself to look Bones straight in the eyes. "It's really too early to tell…"  
  
"Don't bullshit me!" The words were accompanied by the sound of Bones slamming his hand hard enough against the partition that separated them that Jim was worried he had done himself damage. But Bones barely seemed to notice. "I'm a doctor, Jim! I've been delivering bad news to patients while you were still busy annoying the hell out of your high school teachers, so don't you dare patronize me! How much time do we have?"  
  
Jim swallowed against the sudden lump in his throat even as on the other side of the window Bones sagged in on himself, his energy drained by the outburst. There was no way to avoid putting all his cards on the table now.  
  
"Five hours, maybe less."  
  
Bones nodded, taking the information in without any outwards sign of distress save for the tightening of his lips. He as leaning heavily against the console, putting his weight on his hands. Jim noticed that his hair was soaked with sweat as he dropped his head to contemplate the floor in deep thought for a couple of seconds. When he looked up, his face was still pale, but there was a spark of determination in his eyes that calmed Jim somewhat.  
  
"I'm going to need a medical tricorder and a PADD with all the data we have on that virus."  
  
"Bones, you're not…"  
  
"I'm not on duty. I know that, Jim. Trust me that even if I hadn't known before, being cooped up in this damn decon chamber drove the lesson home. Spock and M'Benga are good, but I have more experience with treating viruses than either of them. They're going to need my help. And I can monitor our condition from here, save M'Benga the time to constantly check our readings."  
  
Jim shook his head and fixed Bones with a deliberate stare. "How long until you're going to pass out like Chekov?"  
  
Bones shook his head, the movement exaggerated as if he was trying to shake off his exhaustion and fatigue.  
  
"I know I'm deteriorating. But if I have another hour of clear-headedness in me, it's one hour in which I can help them find a way to fix this. So stop wasting the little time I have left with discussions. Just get me the damn equipment!" When he looked up, though, there was no anger on his face, just determination.  
  
"Please, Jim."  
  
It was the true blow to the gut, Jim realized. Not the fact that Bones and Chekov might die if it weren't for a small medical miracle, though that alone was bad enough. But what made the lump in Jim's throat grow so much that it threatened to cut off his air was that Bones _knew_ all that. He knew how bad things stood for Chekov and him even though he hadn't even seen the detailed findings yet. And still he was going to fight this, even though he was weak enough that soon he'd have trouble holding a PADD. Jim was all about going down fighting, but it was something different when he chose it to guide his own actions than when he watched his best friend go through it.  
  
There really was no way he could deny Bones his request.  
  
Jim bowed his head and closed his eyes for a second, until he was sure that his voice wasn't going to sound raspy and choked.  
  
"All right. I'll tell Medical to get you what you need."  
  
"Thanks, Jim."  
  
The last thing Jim wanted was to leave, but he had duties he couldn't neglect, no matter how much he wanted to stay here with Bones in a desperate attempt to convince his friend – and himself – that it was all going to turn down all right. Right now, though, he had to get to the Bridge.  
  
"I'll make sure someone brings you the things you asked for. I have to go to the Bridge."  
  
Bones nodded. "All right."  
  
"I'll drop by again in a little while."  
  
"Yeah, you do that. Go be Captain, Jim."  
  
Jim forced himself to smile and suppressed the sudden urge to press his hand against the thin barrier that was separating him from his friend. As he turned around, Bones called out to him again.  
  
"Jim."  
  
Jim turned to see Bones look at him with a strange expression on his face.  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"There's still a bunch of planets out there we haven't seen."  
  
Jim just nodded and forced another smile before he turned away, unable to say anything back in response.  
  
It sounded too much like goodbye.  
  
  


*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

  
  
  
The ordinary Bridge shift rotation had been suspended while everyone was putting their best skills to use in order to find out as much as possible about the virus and its origin, so nobody spared a second glance at Uhura and Sulu or asked where they came from as they made their way back towards the Bridge. The two senior officers were quiet until they found themselves in an empty stretch of corridor.  
  
"The doctor was not willing to discuss his methodology with me," Uhura said. "He merely assured me that there was no danger of a ship wide contamination before he asked me to leave."  
  
"They are all very focused on finding a cure. The Doctor and the Science Officer have identified the pathogen."  
  
Uhura cocked her head to the side. "That happens in only thirty-seven percent of the cases."  
  
"But still Captain Kirk has not made the decision to abandon the infected crewmembers."  
  
They stopped in front of a turbolift, and Uhura turned towards Sulu as they waited for the door to open.  
  
"Then this will likely be one of the times where everyone dies."


	4. Chapter 4

**_Chapter 3_**  
  
  
As the turbolift doors opened, Uhura and Sulu stepped in. Sulu waited for the doors to close before he spoke again.  
  
"But we are looking for signs of elevated intelligence in the species we observe. Identifying the pathogen is a clear indicator of that."  
  
Uhura turned around and pressed the button that stopped the turbolift's movement before it arrived on the Bridge.  
  
"It's _rational_ intelligence we're looking for, and Captain Kirk has not demonstrated that yet. The longer the infected crewmembers remain aboard, the bigger the risk that quarantine will fail at one point."  
  
Sulu shook his head. "Maybe he has weighed that risk against his concern for the infected crewmembers. I am fairly certain that he is aware of the potential dangers that keeping them aboard entails."  
  
"But what he doesn't seem to be aware of is that the situation is essentially hopeless."  
  
Sulu met her gaze head on, with something like a challenge in his eyes. "There is a way to be sure of his motives."  
  
Uhura seemed startled for a moment, looking around the turbolift surreptitiously as if someone might be hiding somewhere, listening in on their conversation. And even though they were alone, she took a step closer to him before she replied.  
  
"We chose the communications officer and the helmsman for a reason. Both are Bridge personnel and senior officers, but they don't play a critical role in a medical emergency. Our role here is to observe, not to interfere."  
  
"Which is exactly why we should inhabit the doctor and the science officer. It's their judgment Kirk relies on when he's making his decisions. Where to observe that better than directly at the source?"  
  
Uhura shook her head. "We cannot interfere. The closer we get to the decision making process, the bigger the chance that we will accidentally break protocol and interfere with the events."  
  
But Sulu seemed to want none of that. He shook his head emphatically. "The more people we inhabit, the more angles we can observe. Isn't that what protocol states we should do? Observe as closely and in as much detail as possible?"  
  
Uhura drew her lips into a thin line as she contemplated the idea. Wordlessly, she hit the control button again and the turbolift continued its ascend towards the Bridge.  
  
  


*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

  
  
  
True to Jim's word, one of the nurses had delivered a PADD and a medical tricorder along with an emergency kit of medication to the decon chamber just a few minutes after Jim had left for the Bridge. And not just to appease a dying man, Leonard figured. The PADD seemed to contain all the information Spock and M'Benga had gathered so far, and Leonard quickly set to the task of catching up to the results and figuring out a potential way to develop a cure, hopeless as it might seem right now.  
  
At least it gave him something to do other than to stare at the walls and go stir-crazy.  
  
Chekov was awake again, and judged by the looks of it, the little sleep he had gotten hadn't really helped him get his strength back. He still had his blanket wrapped tightly around himself as if he was cold, but he was dabbing at his sweaty face with a wet cloth.  
  
His temperature was elevated. Leonard had scanned them both just a few minutes ago, and they were both feverish. But Leonard could feel the bouts of shivering, too, and he knew he had to get as much work done as he could before he was getting too weak to do so.  
  
"You are working through this very quickly," Chekov remarked from the opposite bunk. Leonard looked up from his PADD.  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
Chekov nodded towards the PADD. "The material on this virus. I can see how quickly you shift through the pages. You are very fast at reading through it."  
  
If there was a question hidden in there somewhere, Leonard chose to ignore it. Just because he had forced Jim to confess to their deadline didn't mean he had any intention to tell Chekov that their time was measured in hours.  
  
"I got no way to double-check Spock's and M'Benga's findings, so I just gotta take them at face value and work with them. I trust that they got it right, so I just have to sift through what they already did and figure out what still needs to be done."  
  
Chekov put the wet cloth down and leaned back against the wall.  
  
"But still. Whenever there is a medical crisis, you are always fast to react. Even if we never encountered an illness before, you figure it out."  
  
Leonard put the PADD down and looked at the young navigator. He could take a short break; maybe his head would be spinning less if he didn't stare at the PADD for a few moments. Besides, it wasn't as if his everyday work was one strike of genius after the other like Chekov apparently assumed. He should probably put that right.  
  
"It's not like that. With most illnesses, there's patterns, and common reactions. It's mostly just a matter of figuring those out, and let it lead you to find a way to treat the illness. It's not like it's a brand-new problem each and every time, even if an illness doesn't show up in any textbooks."  
  
"Still. With your work, you heal people, and save lives. I always admired that."  
  
Leonard huffed out a soft laugh and pulled the blanket more tightly around himself. "And you're a walking-talking calculator. Trust me, kid, it's far more impressive to see you work those computer controls than it is to see me administer a hypospray."  
  
Chekov waved him off. "It's just maths and physics. Patterns, rules, laws. The same things you use when you calculate medication dosages. What I do, it is not all that impressive."  
  
Leonard had honestly never looked at being a doctor like that, but he had to admit that in a way, Chekov was right. And maybe all those impressive mental feats came just as instinctive to Chekov as calculating the right dosage of medication came to him. Maybe their brains were hardwired for different things, but they both were so involved in what they were doing that a lot of things no longer required conscious thought. It was typical, really. A ship full of savants, that's what they were. Not always in a good way, but they were working on it. Leonard guessed that had to count for something.  
  
"You always wanted to be a doctor?"  
  
Leonard looked up, startled by the question. It was one he hadn't been asked in a long time.  
  
"I guess so. My Dad was a doctor, so I kinda grew into it."  
  
"A family tradition, then."  
  
One that only lasted for two generations so far, but Leonard guessed every tradition had to start somewhere.  
  
"In a way. My Dad, he had his own practice, but it happened often that people came to see him at home, outside of his normal hours. In rural Georgia, if you have a doctor living down the road that's practically an invitation to ignore the official practice hours. When I was a kid, he let me help sometimes. You know, holding bandages, handing him equipment, that sort of thing."  
  
Chekov nodded. "He trained you."  
  
Leonard huffed out a laugh. "More like he indulged me. He knew how much training it took to become a real doctor, but as a kid I thought I could learn everything just by watching him a few times. Hell, I saw him treat a few illnesses and small accidents, read in his medical textbooks even though I didn't understand half of it, and I thought I was ready to start treating patients of my own."  
  
Chekov seemed to catch on from Leonard's tone that this story was going to go into a different direction.  
  
"But you weren't."  
  
Now Leonard did laugh. "Of course I wasn't. Not that I knew, of course. I thought I only had to finish school for formality's sake. Didn't help that my Dad was excited about my interest in what he was doing and indulged me wherever he could. And let me tell you, that nearly blew up in our faces. One summer, I must have been seven or eight, we had family over for a visit. Harry, my second cousin twice removed or some such thing, he was maybe a year younger than me, told me he had a stomach ache. And I figured that with what my Dad had taught me about diagnosing and treatments, I could treat Harry just as well as my Dad would. I knew where he kept his equipment and all, and while he had always made it clear that I wasn't supposed to touch his medical bag without supervision, Harry kept crying about his stomach and I figured it was an emergency."  
  
Chekov's eyes were getting wider. "What was wrong with him?"  
  
Leonard shrugged. "Too much pecan pie and chocolate, probably. But back then that thought never even crossed my mind. I got out my Dad's medical scanner and got one of his textbooks from the shelf, looked up what illness stomach aches and cramps could point to, and got started from there. Harry was damn lucky that my Dad came looking for us a few minutes later."  
  
"Why?"  
  
Leonard laughed at the memory, even though back then it had seemed anything but funny.  
  
"I diagnosed him with an acute case of appendicitis. By the time my Dad came into my room, I had Harry lying prepped on the bed, my father's scalpel in hand, and was about to make the first incision. On the wrong side, too, because from my position the textbook was lying upside down."  
  
Chekov's eyes were so wide that Leonard thought they were going to fall out of his head any moment now. In any other situation, it would have been a hilarious sight.  
  
"What happened?"  
  
Leonard chuckled.  
  
"Well, my Dad nearly had a heart attack when he realized what I was about to do. Trust me, I've never seen him so angry before. I don't think I left my room for the rest of the summer, and it was a long time before he let me anywhere near again when he was with a patient. It put quite a dent in my early career as a surgeon."  
  
"But still you became a doctor."  
  
Leonard nodded with a fond smile as he picked up the PADD again. "Yeah. I guess some things just…fall into place like that."  
  
He powered the PADD up again, watching from the corner of his eyes as Chekov laboriously got up from his bunk. He had noticed that the younger man's physical decline had progressed farther over the past half hour or so. Movement caused pain despite the medication, and he seemed barely able to hold himself on his feet whenever he went into the head to refresh the wet washcloth. It was disconcerting to sit by and watch without being able to do anything against it other than upping Chekov's dosage of painkillers. And it was even worse to know that pretty soon he himself was going to suffer from the same symptoms.  
  
They were running out of time too quickly.  
  
Chekov finally got to his feet, and Leonard was about to turn his attention fully back on his PADD when suddenly the younger man stopped moving mid-step. Startled, Leonard looked up only to find Chekov look down at him, his eyes wide in confusion as he pointed towards the observation window. Leonard slid towards the edge of his bunk, his eyes following the young man's outstretched finger.  
  
"What is it?"  
  
He saw it before Chekov could answer. M'Benga and Spock were standing in front of the observation window, watching them silently. They hadn't done anything to announce their presence, and in all honesty the way they just stood there and watched was more than just a little creepy. Leonard got up from his bunk and stepped up to the window to activate the comm button.  
  
"How long have you been standing here?"  
  
M'Benga seemed unperturbed by the tone of Leonard's voice.  
  
"We didn't want to disturb you."  
  
Yeah, right. Because being cooped up in this minuscule room was so damn _exciting_ that disturbances weren't wanted. Not that M'Benga and Spock should have better things to do right now, unless they had some results they hadn't yet forwarded to Leonard's PADD.  
  
"Shouldn't you be working on the immune receptor tests?"  
  
Spock inclined his head in acknowledgment. "We are waiting for a set of test results right now, and thought we'd come by and inquire about your wellbeing."  
  
Leonard hadn't felt the urge to punch Spock in a long time, but right now he had the feeling he was getting there again. It felt like slipping into a well-loved pair of gloves.  
  
"Well, we're just damn peachy. As you should know, because I sent you the latest scans less than half an hour ago."  
  
"We were more interested in your current…state of mind."  
  
If Leonard didn't know from experience that M'Benga had a clear head on his shoulders even in the most dire situations, he'd think the man had lost his mind.  
  
"You wanna know how we _feel_ , Geoffrey? Well, let me tell you something. We would feel a lot better if the two of you were back in Medical working on this thing. I can do only so much from here, but I don't have access to any of the viral samples. So how about you two get back to work?"  
  
"Of course," Spock replied tonelessly. "We will return to Medical immediately."  
  
"Good. And once you get the results form the current battery of tests, look out for indicators that the virus is susceptible to radiation. Judged by the previous results, I don't know how likely it is that the altered immune receptors are going to work out the way we intended."  
  
"We will keep you updated about the results," M'Benga replied, smiling at both of them before he turned and followed Spock down the corridor. "Doctor, Ensign."  
  
Leonard turned back towards Chekov with a frown on his face.  
  
"Well, that was interesting."  
  
Chekov seemed confused, but also strangely hopeful. "If they both came to visit us, that could mean they have found a cure, yes?"  
  
If anyone had figured out a cure to this, Leonard guessed that Jim would be the first to tell them, but he wasn't going to be the one who burst the young man's bubble. With a non-committal grunt he moved back towards his bunk, hand holding onto the wall in order to keep his balance. He had work to do while M'Benga and Spock waited for those test results.  
  
  


*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

  
  
  
"They are brave, the way they are facing their certain death," M'Benga said as he and Spock started their way back towards the Medical Bay. Spock seemed unimpressed by that statement.  
  
"We are not here to test their courage. What we are here to observe is whether their intelligence is developed enough to initiate first contact or not."  
  
"But maybe intelligence alone isn't the sole criterion to judge a species by. Maybe we should take other things into consideration."  
  
Spock raised an eyebrow and answered in a slightly condescending tone. "We have been following this protocol for the past ten thousand years. It is neither our place to doubt nor to change it."  
  
"Maybe someone should."  
  
Their discussion was cut short when they arrived in Medical Bay. There weren't any patients at the moment, but the nursing staff was keeping up the normal activities in Medical, so they weren't undisturbed until the door to the lab had closed behind them. Almost immediately, one of the synthesizers started beeping.  
  
"These are the test results my host is waiting for," M'Benga remarked as he pulled the results up on the screen. "We should leave the two of them to their work."  
  
Spock nodded after a short moment. "The helmsman and communications officer are still on the Bridge. We should return to our initial hosts."  
  
M'Benga nodded. A couple of seconds later he turned back towards the screen.  
  
"The test results are in," he said to Spock. "The altered immune receptors didn't work. Damn."  
  
He ran a hand through his hair with a frustrated sigh. "Now we're back to square one."  
  
Spock stepped up to the screen and studied the display intensely. He brought up one section in a different resolution and pointed towards the cells on display.  
  
"These changes in the structure suggest that the virus might be susceptible to ionizing radiation."  
  
M'Benga studied the display, then pulled up some data on the console in front of him.  
  
"The required levels of radiation would be fatal to humans. But it's a start, at least. I'm going to prepare new test samples, and we'll see how it goes from there."  
  
Spock nodded and went to set up the computer for the next test run.  
  
  


*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

  
  
  
Seeing Scotty on the Bridge wasn't a rare occurrence by any means, but Jim realized that in a time of crisis, it was somewhat of a rarity for him to be anywhere but down in Engineering. But then again, most crisis situations didn't occur when Enterprise was in orbit around a planet, her engines disengaged and Engineering easily handled by someone from Scotty's crew.  
  
And this time, when Scotty had come to the Bridge Jim had felt a small burst of hope that he had found out something new. He immediately went over to the tactical station where Scotty pulled up a detailed geo-data image of a section of the planet's surface.  
  
"What do you have, Scotty?"  
  
"I think Doctor M'Benga is right in assuming that the virus was brought to the planet. This area here," he highlighted a roughly circular area on the map, "was probably created by a meteorite impact. And the abandoned Klingon campsite Doctor McCoy and Ensign Chekov examined is right on the edge of the crater radius. It would also explain why no other landing party got infected."  
  
Jim nodded silently, eyes still affixed to the map in front of him. It explained where the damn virus had come from, but sadly this didn't help them one bit in figuring out a cure, and they were rapidly running out of time.  
  
"If that's right, it means that the Klingons at that campsite must have been infected, too." He looked at Scotty across the console, and after so many years of working together, he could read from his Chief Engineer's expression that they were thinking the same thing. Even if the Klingons had suffered from the same virus that had infected Bones and Chekov, chances were slim that they had taken the time to develop a cure. Jim had had enough encounters with Klingons before to know that their approach to these things was…different.  
  
Still, they had to try. He had to do something other than sit by and watch their time slip away.  
  
"Uhura, open a priority channel to Starfleet Command. Have them contact the Klingon High Council; we need to find out which of their ships came here, and if they developed for a cure for the virus."  
  
"Yes, Sir."  
  
Scotty frowned at Jim across the console. "Captain, I think I can answer the question what the Klingons did with their infected crew."  
  
Jim already had a very strong suspicion, but he nodded at the engineer to continue. Scotty pulled up a schematic of the planet and its orbit, zooming in on a field of debris.  
  
"According to our scanners, the origin of this debris is Klingon. It's a standard hull alloy."  
  
Jim's stomach dropped a couple of inches, even though deep down he had already known. "They didn't even let their infected crewmembers come back aboard. They destroyed the shuttle."  
  
Scotty nodded. "You know just as well as I do that Klingons are warriors, not scientists. Chances that they bothered to examine the virus any further after that…"  
  
"We still have to try!" Jim snapped, flinching at his own outburst. He wasn't angry at Scotty, but at his own inability to do a damn thing to help Chekov and Bones before it was too late, and it was driving him mad that all they seemed to achieve was running into more dead ends. He ran a hand across his face with a deep sigh.  
  
"We have to try, Scotty."  
  
"I know. I just wouldn't get my hopes up."  
  
Another thought struck Jim. "Is there any more debris in orbit around the planet? Anything we can trace back to another species that came into contact with this virus?"  
  
Scotty shook his head. "There's plenty of debris, aye. Some of it centuries old, if not more. I tried, Captain, but the only thing the sensors immediately picked up was of Klingon origin. I'm running a detailed analysis, but it's going to take too much time."  
  
Of course. Because that would have been too damn easy.  
  
"Uhura, have you reached Starfleet Command yet?"  
  
Uhura turned around in her seat and shook her head at him. "The connection is being established as we speak, Sir."  
  
"Transfer all our data to them, Lieutenant. Tell them to contact everyone they can think of and ask if they ever had a ship exploring this quadrant. Someone out there must have taken the time to study this virus instead of just killing their infected crew."  
  
"Aye, Sir."  
  
Jim leaned against the console and closed his eyes for a moment, unable to keep looking at the animated image of the planet that was still circling slowly across the screen. He trusted his crew. He trusted M'Benga, and he trusted Spock. Over the past years, these people had more than once pulled a miracle out of thin air, just in the nick of time.  
  
But this time, Jim had a bad feeling about this. If they didn't figure out a way to stop this virus soon, Chekov and Bones were going to die. There was evidence that other species had been right where they were, but apparently none of them had even bothered to find a cure. Or if they had, they hadn't succeeded.  
  
The stakes were high, and they were running out of time too damn fast.


	5. Chapter 5

**_Chapter 4_**  
  
  
  
It was mumbling that tore Leonard out of his sleep. Not that it had taken much and really, _sleep_ was a damn big euphemism for the exhausted state he had been drifting in for the past half hour or so.  
  
He shouldn't be sleeping in the first place, he knew that. He should be working on the data M'Benga and Spock were constantly transferring to his PADD, but his eyes had simply grown too heavy to keep them open at one point. He must have drifted off, even though he had only wanted to rest his eyes for a moment.  
  
Chekov had been fast asleep last Leonard remembered, but now he was tossing and turning on his narrow bunk, mumbling under his breath. Since Leonard didn't understand a damn thing, he guessed the younger man had slipped into his native tongue, but there were enough soft and terrified exclamations of _mama_ and _papa_ for him to know that Chekov wasn't dreaming about a happy family reunion.  
  
All his limbs were aching, but Leonard slowly but surely pushed himself into a sitting position. It didn't feel quite like his legs were willing to carry his weight, but there was just a narrow gap between his bunk and Chekov's, and if his weight forced him to his knees almost immediately, he could always claim it had been a planned move to bring him to Chekov's eyelevel. No one ever needed to know.  
  
"Chekov, hey!" Leonard reached out a hand and closed it around Chekov's shoulder, feeling the muscles under his fingers tremble from the strain. "Wake up."  
  
Chekov tossed himself so that he was facing Leonard, still mumbling incoherently under his breath.  
  
"Hey kid, wake up now. It's all right, you're just dreaming."  
  
Chekov didn't wake up with a gasp as most people did from nightmares. He tensed under Leonard's hand for a moment, then slowly his eyes blinked open and he looked up at Leonard in confusion.  
  
"Doctor?"  
  
"You were dreaming, Chekov. Something about your parents?"  
  
The only reaction to nightmares Leonard had ever encountered, especially to being confronted to them, was denial or the unwillingness to talk about it. But Chekov didn't seem to be completely awake yet, and he merely sunk back into the mattress, eyes widening in fright.  
  
"They weren't there," he rasped out, his accent even thicker than it normally was. "When Enterprise returned after…after the Narada, they weren't there. And I thought that something happened, that they had been in San Francisco during the attack."  
  
"It's okay," Leonard soothed, trying to inflict as much calm into his hoarse voice as he could. "That was three years ago. Your parents were fine. They _are_ fine, last I heard. You told me you talked to them just a little while ago, and you're going to talk to them again as soon as this here is over."  
  
He hated himself for that lie, but judged by the glazed expression in Chekov's eyes, his words hadn't fully sunken in, anyway.  
  
"Their shuttle was late," Chekov remembered out loud. "Starfleet got them on a special transport for the occasion, and then their shuttle was late. That's why they weren't there. That's why I couldn't say hello when everyone else saw their families again."  
  
Leonard felt himself choking up at the thought that quite probably, Chekov wasn't going to see or talk to his parents again this time, and that there'd be no opportunity for the young man to say goodbye. And there was nothing Leonard could do against that. Nothing but grit his teeth and get his ass back over towards his own bed, where he had left the PADD lying on powered up atop of the blanket. If he could force himself to stay awake, then maybe could keep himself going for another fifteen, maybe twenty minutes. Thirty minutes tops. But every minute he could help M'Benga and Spock had to count.  
  
Chekov seemed to be drifting off again, and following an urge he didn't question, Leonard reached out and stroked the sweaty bangs away from the young man's forehead. Chekov's skin was too hot to the touch, and while feeling someone's forehead held no real medical value in finding a diagnosis, he didn't need his tricorder to tell him that his fever had risen yet another bit.  
  
Chekov sighed under the touch and burrowed deeper into his blanket. Leonard let his hand rest on the kid's forehead for a few seconds longer, then he withdrew it and struggled back to his feet.  
  
"Rest a bit, Chekov. I'm gonna see if I can't figure this out."  
  
His only answer was a sigh and a soft snore, and Leonard could only nod in agreement. He didn't have much hope for success left, either.  
  
  


*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

  
  
  
The air on the Bridge had been tense ever since Scotty's discoveries, and it didn't get better as they waited for an answer from Starfleet Command. Jim tried to busy himself with the analysis on the remaining debris that Scotty was running, hoping he might be able to speed the process along somewhat. It was excruciatingly slow work, but it was a way to pass the time productively while they waited.  
  
When Starfleet Command finally responded, it was the answer Jim had expected, even if he hadn't been able to quell his hope entirely.  
  
It took all of his self-restraint to keep his voice level as he said his goodbyes to Admiral Pike and told Uhura to close the audio connection, and for a minute or two he sat silently in his chair, unable to think about anything but the fact that they were truly on their own now. On their own and completely screwed.  
  
It was Sulu's voice that finally tore him out of his stupor, and he was surprised to see that both the helmsman as well as Uhura had come to stand beside his chair and he hadn't even noticed their approach.  
  
"This doesn't exactly come as a surprise."  
  
Jim looked up at Sulu, blinking wearily. "We had to try, Sulu."  
  
"Yes, but there was no reason for the Klingons to develop a cure once they had gotten rid of the threat."  
  
"As I said, Sulu, it was worth a shot."  
  
Uhura said nothing, but she too seemed a little startled when Sulu didn't stop there.  
  
"I'm curious, Captain. Even if the Klingons had developed an effective cure against this virus, the relationship between the Federation and the Empire is strained. There would have been no guarantee that the Klingons would have just handed over a bargaining chip like that."  
  
"There's other ways than mere diplomatic channels, Sulu. Klingons are bound by honor, and I know one or two of them who owe me a debt. If the Klingons had a cure, I would have gotten it."  
  
Sulu seemed unconvinced, and slowly Jim was starting to think that the enormous stress of the past hours was starting to get to him.  
  
"So you would have just asked the Klingons for it?"  
  
Jim looked his helmsman straight in the eye. "If necessary, I would have begged on bended knee. But it doesn't matter because the Klingons don't have a cure, and we're on our own." He held back a sigh and started to push himself out of his chair. "I'm going to check in with Spock and M'Benga, see…"  
  
The sudden blaring of an alarm klaxon drowned out what was left of his reply, and Jim shot fully upright immediately.  
  
"What's going on?" He asked the room in general, but it was Sulu who had immediately hurried over to the tactics console who was first to reply.  
  
"We have a security breach on D-Deck."  
  
Jim sank back into his chair and immediately hit the comm button on his console.  
  
Decon was on D-Deck.  
  
  


*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

  
  
  
Leonard had worked until the letters started to swim and blur in front of his eyes no matter how much he adjusted the resolution on the PADD. The device was still turned on, but it was lying uselessly beside his legs. He was pretty sure he didn't have the strength left to pick it up again, anyway, even if he tried. His head was pounding, he was shivering from the fever, and all he wanted to do was close his eyes and sleep until this was over.  
  
He would do just that, but Chekov was going through some fever induced freak burst of energy. Just a few minutes ago he had scrambled out of bed on unsteady feet, and ever since then he had been working on the door controls, muttering under his breath as he frantically typed on the keypad. Of course he was muttering in Russian, and the sound of the incomprehensible babbling along with the beeping of the keypad kept Leonard awake.  
  
Distantly, he was aware that he should probably do something to stop Chekov, but his limbs felt so heavy, and he didn't think he had the energy to do anything but mumble angrily.  
  
"Chekov, stop it!"  
  
An angry burst of Russian was all the answer he got, and Chekov only seemed to type faster. Well, wasn't that just great.  
  
"We're quarantined for a reason, you know? You can't just break out of here."  
  
"I have to find them," Chekov replied, in English this time, followed by another string of incomprehensible words. Leonard had absolutely no idea who Chekov was talking about. If he was still caught in his earlier hallucinations, it was probably his parents. Whoever it was, Leonard couldn't force up enough energy to care. Chekov's hallucinations weren't real, but his own exhaustion definitely was. He really only wanted to sleep.  
  
"The room is on emergency quarantine lockdown. You can't break that code."  
  
Chekov huffed out a breath, but continued his relentless attack on the keypad. "Codes are just maths. Patterns, rules, logic. I can do that."  
  
Maybe he should call someone, Leonard mused. But the comm button was out of his immediate reach, and it wasn't as if Jim could do much from the Bridge. Nothing but tell Leonard to stop Chekov, and he really didn't want to get up. He had to conserve his energy, so that maybe he'd be able to focus on the data on his PADD for a little while later on. Besides, it wasn't as if Chekov was ever going to crack an emergency lockdown code. Those codes had been designed to be unbreakable, after all.  
  
Sooner or later, Chekov was going to give up.  
  
So Leonard lay there and listened at the steady stream of chatter. Now that he didn't listen properly, it was almost soothing, the way the words ebbed and flowed. He just had to stop focusing on trying to find a sense in the words, then maybe he could even fall asleep like that. The only thing that was really disturbing was the constant beeping of the keypad, and the pneumatic hiss as the door to the decon chamber slid open…  
  
Huh.  
  
Maybe emergency codes weren't that unbreakable, after all.  
  
Almost immediately, a loud klaxon started to sound through the air, and with a frustrated huff Leonard pressed his pillow against his ears and tried to drown out the noise. He damn well knew that the door was open now, he didn't need that hellish noise as a reminder.  
  
And really, couldn't Jim just send someone to find Chekov and put him back in here? Then at least all this ruckus was going to be over.  
  
"Bridge to decon."  
  
If anything, Jim's voice sounded even more aggravating than the alarm klaxons. Leonard pulled the pillow down a little more tightly, even though he already knew that it wasn't going to help much in drowning out Jim.  
  
"What's going on down there?"  
  
Didn't Enterprise have all these fancy sensors and instruments for a reason? If Jim was paying attention, a monitor somewhere up there on the Bridge would give him the answer to that question without the need to bother Leonard about it. But Jim was nothing if not persistent.  
  
"Chekov? Bones! Someone better give me an answer right now! What is going on down there?"  
  
With a groan, Leonard pulled the pillow away form his face and rolled towards the edge of the bed. To no avail, because the nearest comm button was still out of his reach, no matter how much he stretched. Jim's voice kept on ringing through the intercom, but Leonard stopped listening as he struggled to get his feet under himself and stumbled towards the nearest wall console. He had to close his eyes against the sudden onset of vertigo and clutched the wall with one hand for balance as he pressed the comm button.  
  
"Jim."  
  
It wasn't a very eloquent reply to Jim's increasingly frantic bursts of speech, but right now Leonard couldn't be damned to think of something more clever to say.  
  
"Damn it Bones, what is going on down there? The sensors say there's a security breach!"  
  
"That would be Chekov," Leonard replied, leaning his head against the wall panel. God, but the cool panel felt good against his overheated skin. Maybe he could just stay here for a little while longer and relax into the soothing feeling of coolness.  
  
Of course Jim had other thoughts.  
  
"Bones, stay with me! What did Chekov do?"  
  
"He broke out. Cracked the code. Went looking for his parents or…something. I don't know."  
  
Jim's sigh was a clear sign that he was struggling hard to keep his composure, though Leonard had no idea why. He had simply answered Jim's question. No reason to get all pissy at him for that.  
  
"I want you to listen to me now, Bones."  
  
Listening he could do. He guessed.  
  
"Are you listening to me?"  
  
Leonard swallowed in a desperate effort to work up enough saliva to reply.  
  
"Bones!"  
  
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm listening."  
  
Whatever could be so damn important that Leonard had to turn his attention away from finding a new cool spot on the wall panel, but he guessed he owed it to Jim to listen.  
  
"We've sealed off D-Deck. A security team is on their way, but you can get to Chekov well before they're even suited up."  
  
Less exposure, a distant part of Leonard's brain piped up. Jim didn't want to expose anyone else to this virus if it wasn't absolutely necessary. An understandable reaction, but Leonard was just so _tired_. If the security team was already on their way here, they could take care of this. It wasn't good for morale if they suited up only to be told that their service wasn't needed. Did that make sense? Leonard wasn't sure, but deep down he guessed that there had been a coherent thought involved there somewhere.  
  
"Bones, did you hear me?"  
  
He might be dying, but damn it, he wasn't _deaf_.  
  
"Yeah. I heard you."  
  
"Good. Then I want you to go out there and get Chekov back into decon. Can you do that?"  
  
He could, Leonard guessed. As long as he had something to hold on to, he was probably capable of moving. He just…he really didn't want to move right now.  
  
"Jim…I…"  
  
"I _need_ you to do this, Bones. Chekov needs to be back in decon before he overrides the locks on a turbolift, or gains access to any of the ship's functions. So I need you to pull yourself together and get him back to decon now, understood?"  
  
Leonard drew breath to reply, but no words came out. Jim seemed to take that silence for deliberation, because he decided to pull out the big guns.  
  
" _Please_."  
  
As if Leonard had ever been able to refuse that tone. He'd just have to suck it up and go looking for their errant navigator. Piece of cake.  
  
"Okay," he rasped into the comm. "I'll go look for him."  
  
"Thanks, Bones."  
  
"Whatever," Leonard mumbled, but he had already disengaged the comm button and was moving along the wall towards the door Chekov had opened. He only had to stop occasionally to catch his breath, and he couldn't look down at the floor for longer stretches of time unless he wanted the vertigo to set in again, but it actually worked. Better than he would have thought, too, and his steps were getting a little steadier the longer he remained upright.  
  
Of course, he mentally chided himself. His circulation and blood pressure had been down after lying prone for so long, so of course it was going to take a little time until he was steady on his feet again.  
  
The lights in the corridor were flashing red, and the blasted klaxons were still hurting his ears with their shrill alarms, but Leonard forced himself to ignore all that. He had to find Chekov, then he could lie down and finally go to sleep.  
  
The first security hatch he came across was open, even though it should have automatically closed as soon as the deck was locked off. There was no obvious sign of manipulation, but Leonard just knew that Chekov had passed here on his way to…well, wherever he was headed. Mother Russia, probably. The kid wasn't exactly clear in his head right now, and Leonard shuddered to think of what he would start hallucinating about once he reached the stage Chekov was in right now.  
  
It was probably best not to think about that. The only good thing was that he'd not be coherent enough to be embarrassed about it afterwards.  
  
He heard Chekov's muttering before he saw him. Again, it was Russian gibberish that didn't mean anything to him, but by now it sounded agitated. Leonard rounded the corner to find the young navigator in front of a console, typing into the keypad with the same frantic intensity he had shown earlier. Looking up, Leonard noticed that it was an airlock Chekov was trying to open.  
  
Just fucking great.  
  
He quickened his steps as he approached, though he was probably still moving at a snail's pace compared to a healthy person. But he was somewhat proud of himself when he reached Chekov without falling flat on his face. It was a good thing, too, because he didn't think he'd be able to stand up again if he fell now.  
  
"Chekov, come on now. We need to get back."  
  
Chekov only shook his head, interrupting neither his muttering nor his frantic typing. Leonard had no choice but to step up directly beside him and put a hand on the younger man's arm.  
  
"We need to get back into isolation. It's too dangerous if we're out here."  
  
Chekov shook himself loose and returned to his typing.  
  
"No," he rasped. "I have to find them."  
  
"That's an _airlock_ you're trying to open there. If you crack that code, you're not going to find your parents. You'll only kill both of us."  
  
Chekov didn't even seem to hear, and Leonard figured he had no choice but to stop talking and start acting. He reached for both of Chekov's wrists, but the younger man immediately tried to break loose. Leonard didn't know where the he still took the energy from, but Chekov tried hard to break Leonard's hold on him, pushing him into the nearest wall as his hands worked in a frantic rhythm, trying to shake Leonard loose and not caring if he hit him in the process.  
  
But Chekov was weakened by this whole ordeal, even more so than Leonard, so Leonard merely held on tightly until the first burst of energy had abated. Chekov still didn't want to let up, but Leonard pulled him closer, until the younger man was pressed flush against his chest and his punches lacked any leverage that might have given them enough force to do any real damage.  
  
"It's okay," he murmured into Chekov's ear as he brought one arm around the younger man's back. Chekov still struggled, but after a few seconds he sank fully against Leonard's chest with a muffled sob.  
  
"It's okay," Leonard repeated in a soothing tone, holding Chekov against himself so that he couldn't move away, even though all the fight seemed to have gone out of the younger man. "You'll see them again soon, Chekov. We'll go back to decon now, and I'm sure Jim is going to contact them straight away, as soon as this whole mess is over."  
  
Probably to deliver the bad news, but Leonard was _not_ going to mention that now that Chekov had finally calmed down. He waited for a few more seconds, but he knew he was going to need most of his strength for their way back.  
  
"Come on, Chekov. Let's get you back into bed. I promise the world is going to look a whole damn lot better once you've rested a little."  
  
Chekov was still walking under his own power, but that was the only positive thing that could be said about their progress back down the corridor. Leonard pulled one of Chekov's arm across his shoulders, and in between that and his hold on the blanket the young navigator had still slung tightly around himself, he was carrying most of Chekov's weight. They must have looked like a pair of drunken sailors the way they were stumbling down the corridor, and Leonard only hoped that no security camera had caught that image.  
  
The way had seemed much shorter the first time around, but eventually they stumbled through the door of the decon chamber. Leonard hit the switch to close the door behind them, then he deposited Chekov on the nearest bunk and pulled the blanket up to his chest. Chekov seemed completely out of it already; his eyes were closed and he was still mumbling unintelligibly under his breath, but otherwise showed no signs of awareness as to where they were.  
  
Leonard was breathing heavily form the exertion, and he wanted nothing more than to crash on his own bunk, but he knew that if he did he was never going to get up again. Instead, he stumbled over towards the comm console and pushed the button.  
  
"McCoy to Kirk. We're back, Jim."  
  
The small screen on the console came to life, much to Leonard's surprise. Normally, intra-ship communication was audio only unless a visual was required for some reason. But now he found himself looking at Jim, only that Jim wasn't on the Bridge anymore. He was standing in Medical, and M'Benga was right there beside him. Leonard found it hard to focus properly, but he thought there was an air of anger about Jim, as if he had been in the middle of a heated argument just moments before. Upon seeing Leonard on the screen, Jim gave a smile that was so forced it wasn't credible even for Leonard in his addled state.  
  
"Bones." Jim sounded as exhausted as Leonard felt. "Good to see you. How's Chekov?"  
  
"Not good. He's delirious, and deteriorating fast. Tell me you got something, Jim."  
  
He saw the answer on Jim's face before he even spoke.  
  
"We're working on it, Bones. But for now we need to make sure that something like this doesn't happen again."  
  
Well, that sounded ominous.  
  
"What do you want me to do?"  
  
Leonard had the feeling Jim didn't like this, but he didn't offer any protest as M'Benga stepped forward.  
  
"I need you to inject Ensign Chekov and yourself with three units of sonambutril."  
  
Leonard stopped, thinking he hadn't heard right.  
  
"Three units?"  
  
M'Benga nodded. "Yes."  
  
"But that's going to put us out like lights."  
  
This time, it was Jim who answered, though his face still showed his displeasure at what he had to say.  
  
"Chekov is too good at overriding the ship's systems. We need to make sure he doesn't start another jailbreak."  
  
Leonard wanted to ask why he was supposed to inject himself with the sedative as well, but he already knew the answer. He was too far deteriorated to be of any help for Spock and M'Benga anymore. He was progressing rapidly towards the state Chekov was in right now, and while he couldn't hack a computer, he had – upon his own insistence – a kit full of medication he could cause some serious damage with once he got delusional.  
  
But this…  
  
Three units of sonambutril were gong to put them out for a while. Probably for so long that they'd wake up just in time for the big finale this virus had in store for them.   
  
Of course that explained why Jim was using the video link to talk to him. After all, if he dosed them with the sedative now, this was goodbye. If Jim couldn't come up with a miracle, it was unlikely that either of them was going to wake up to coherency again. Now, if Leonard trusted in anyone's ability to come up with a miracle in even the most hopeless situation, it was Jim. But this…this felt final.  
  
Leonard swallowed hard, squeezing his eyes shut in an effort to focus his gaze on Jim once more. There really was no other choice.  
  
"Okay."  
  
His hands were shaking slightly as he loaded the cartridge into the hypospray, set the right dosage and after only a short moment of hesitation injected the medication into Chekov's neck. But before he reset the dosage, he turned back towards the video screen. Suddenly, it was all happening too quickly, and he had the feeling that if he only had a bit more time, he'd be able to think of all the things that still needed to be said before he did this.  
  
Right now, though, he couldn't think of a single thing.  
  
"Jim…"  
  
Jim smiled at him, and it was one of the saddest smiles he had ever seen on his friend's face.  
  
"We're going to find a way to fight this, Bones. Trust me."  
  
"Sure you will, Jim."  
  
It sounded resigned, and Jim's face contorted into a pained grimace.  
  
"I mean it, Bones. I promise you I'll find a way to get the two of you out of there."  
  
Leonard smiled, strangely reassured by those words. Jim never made a promise he didn't intend to keep. He probably wouldn't succeed this time, but still it was good to hear that he hadn't given up hope yet.  
  
"I know you will, Jim."  
  
The silence that followed was heavy with the feeling that there were a lot of things that still needed to be said between them, but the moment came and passed without either of them making a move to say anything.  
  
"Go get some rest, Bones. We'll hold down the fort out here, and when you wake up, we will have a solution for this."  
  
Leonard nodded. "Okay."  
  
It wasn't okay. It was anything but okay, but it was the only thing left to do. With one last look at Jim, Leonard turned around and swayed back into the direction of his bunk. For a few seconds, he watched Chekov on the other bed, eyes closed and his breathing deep and even and the lines of pain on his face relaxed a bit more now.  
  
It wasn't as if he had any other choice, really.  
  
Leonard loaded the second dose of the sedative into the hypospray, pressed it against his neck and pushed the release. The medication stung as it entered his bloodstream, and he quickly laid down on the bunk. Already, his vision was darkening as his lids grew heavy, and before he could form another coherent thought, he drifted off into the welcoming darkness.


	6. Chapter 6

**_Chapter 5_**  
  
  
Jim watched as Bones injected himself with the hypospray and almost immediately slumped down on his bunk.  
  
"For how long is the sedative going to keep them asleep?"  
  
M'Benga drew a deep breath before he turned and met Jim's gaze.  
  
"Two hours, probably. This virus is so incompatible with the human system, I can't make any real predictions about how it's going to affect the effect of the medication."  
  
Jim nodded. "Okay."  
  
Two hours. If the initial estimation of how long Bones and Chekov still had was halfway accurate, they weren't going to have much time left once they woke up. If any at all. Depending how things turned out, this could very well have been the last time he had spoken to them.  
  
Which was not going to happen. Jim wasn't going to let it happen. And if he had to fabricate a damn medical miracle, he was damn well going to do it. Nobody was going to die here tonight, not on his watch.  
  
"Tell me you're on to something, Doc."  
  
"We were able to identify a frequency of radiation that disrupts the matrix of the virus."  
  
Jim's head perked up. "That's good news, isn't it?"  
  
M'Benga shook his head awkwardly. "It's nothing more than a starting point. The dosage of radiation needed to counter the infection is well within the lethal spectrum for humans. Commander Spock is currently working on samples in the lab, trying to figure out how to adjust the radiation to have the desired effect without killing them."  
  
"Good." Spock could figure this out, Jim was sure of it. They were going to figure this out, and then by the time Bones and Chekov woke up again they'd have a cure ready and waiting for them.  
  
Jim wasn't willing to accept any other option.  
  
  


*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

  
  
  
The Bridge was perpetually busy during this crisis, with everyone focusing fully on their assigned tasks. Nobody paid any mind when Sulu left his console and walked over towards the communications console. Uhura looked up as he stepped up behind her shoulder and pointed out something completely insignificant on her screen, leaning closer to her ear as he did so.  
  
"We can stop what this virus is doing to them."  
  
Uhura's fingers hesitated in their movement for the fragment of a second before she continued her work.  
  
"That is not what we're here for," she replied, without ever taking her eyes off the screen. "We are here to observe."  
  
"Yes, to _observe_. We came here to observe their reaction to the unknown, not to make them suffer."  
  
Uhura finished up her task and turned sharply in her chair. "This is not the place to have this discussion."  
  
Sulu inclined his head. "I know a place where we can confer undisturbed, then."  
  
Uhura nodded. "Good."  
  
It took a moment to get the new body under enough control to make it sit up on the narrow bunk. Rolling the shoulders of his new host, the doctor turned towards the ensign.  
  
"This host is different. I feel an immense amount of…pain."  
  
The ensign looked back. "It is a result the infection has on their species."  
  
"Still. I don't see why anyone should experience this kind of pain."  
  
The ensign shook his head and scooted to the edge of his bunk. "Because the desire to overcome these physical weaknesses is the first step to overcome physical shape as a whole."  
  
Now that he was used to the pain, it was easier moving the doctor's body into a standing position, a movement the ensign immediately mirrored.  
  
"Maybe not all species are striving for that."  
  
" _We_ did. Our ancestors were physical beings, and they overcame it."  
  
The doctor shook his head. "But that doesn't mean every other species has to develop into the same direction. All those species we encountered, they had different qualities. So do the humans."  
  
The ensign didn't seem fazed by the heated defense.  
  
"I have seen many species in my time, and humans are nothing special."  
  
The doctor shook his head. "What do you have against them? Why are you so insistent on not helping them?"  
  
"Because it is not our task to help them. It is our task to observe how they react, and their reaction so far was not any different from most other species we have observed."  
  
"Well, they didn't resort to violence, like the Klingons did."  
  
The ensign raised an eyebrow. "Not _yet_. But for a species who claim not to embrace violence, their databanks are filled with examples to the contrary. A species who claim one thing and practice another…" He cocked his head to the side, where a small LED light on the console was burning. "We are being watched."  
  
The Captain and the other doctor were engaged in a discussion in the main room in Medical Bay, and as soon as they interrupted that, turned around and entered the laboratory, they found the Vulcan examining the readings of the two infected crewmembers with piqued interest, a PADD held in his hands. Hearing them approach, he turned towards them.  
  
"Captain, this development is startling. Doctor McCoy and Ensign Chekov were emitting brain wave patterns that were distinctly not human. And despite the sedation, the video surveillance showed that they were both standing upright and talking."  
  
The Captain took the PADD from him and started going through the collected data.  
  
"This was not expected," the doctor said. "I was not aware that they had the necessary technology available."  
  
"It has to be Vulcan technology," the Captain replied.  
  
The Vulcan didn't seem surprised, but strangely fascinated as he raised an eyebrow and took a step closer to them. "You are not the Captain and Doctor M'Benga. Are you the ones who are responsible for what is happening to Doctor McCoy and Ensign Chekov?"  
  
"No," the Captain replied without looking up from the PADD.  
  
"We merely study how physical species react to the virus," M'Benga continued. "You could help us by explaining how you noticed our presence. It happens in less than two percent of the cases."  
  
If Spock was in any way perturbed by the events unfolding in front of him, he didn't let it show.  
  
"Doctor McCoy and Ensign Chekov are under heavy sedation. They should not have been in any condition to talk, let alone stand up while doing so."  
  
"Of course." Kirk nodded. "We haven't had the experience of a physical existence for thousands of years; it is hard to differentiate between sleep and sedation."  
  
"We will consider it next time."  
  
Spock raised an eyebrow. "If you have observed this virus for so long, there has to be something you can do to help Doctor McCoy and Ensign Chekov."  
  
M'Benga shook his head. "We are here to observe, not to interfere."  
  
"The mere fact that you're communicating with me constitutes an interference."  
  
"We are observing humans. _You_ are Vulcan. In fact, you were inhabited earlier, and the experience was quite fascinating."  
  
Spock crossed his arms behind his back. "I have no recollection of such an event."  
  
"Of course not." M'Benga seemed almost bored by the conversation. "It's a simple thing to adjust memories. A little more difficult in a Vulcan than in a human, but still a very simple thing."  
  
Spock nodded. "I see. You are going to adjust my memory again, so that I won't remember any part of this conversation."  
  
"Correct," M'Benga cast a look at Kirk, who was still engrossed in the PADD he was holding. "You won't remember what you observed in the decon chamber, either. Video recordings and sensor readings are even easier to adjust than human memories."  
  
"It is logical to assume that if you have these abilities, you are also able to help our infected crewmembers."  
  
"We could," Kirk remarked, and for the first time in this conversation he looked up from his PADD and up at his partner. M'Benga shook his head and turned to leave.  
  
"But we won't." He took the PADD with the altered information out of Kirk's hands and handed it back to Spock. "Thank you for your help, Commander."  
  
Spock took the PADD without comment, and he didn't try to stop them as they turned and left the laboratory.  
  
"It's interesting," Kirk remarked as soon as the doors had closed behind them and they had made sure that they were alone in this part of the Medical Bay. "According to the information the Commander has stored on his PADD, he and the doctor have found out how to stop the virus."  
  
M'Benga considered this for a moment. "Seven other species developed the radiation cure before. None of them managed to do so on time. All they did was waste time and resources in an attempt to achieve the impossible."  
  
"We didn't initiate first contact with any of them?"  
  
"Of course not. This course of action is hardly proof of significant intelligence." He stopped beside the console M'Benga had been working on earlier. "The doctor and the Captain both need to continue with their tasks. We should return to our initial hosts."  
  
  


*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

  
  
  
Jim's heart was beating fast in his chest as he donned the EV-suit. It should be exhilarating that he could finally _do_ something, but he merely felt sick to his stomach at the thought that if this didn't work…  
  
He couldn't allow himself to think like that. It couldn't go wrong. He couldn't allow it to go wrong.  
  
M'Benga and Spock had finally figured out a way to make the radiation work, but even as they broke the news to Jim, they had been adamant in pointing out that there were no guarantees. It might work, or it might not. Spock could probably calculate the odds, if anyone bothered to ask him. Jim definitely didn't want to hear Bones' and Chekov's chances expressed in cold, hard numbers. Fact of the matter was that this shot was more than they had an hour ago, and Jim wasn't willing to give up hope yet. Maybe this was the last minute miracle they had been waiting for.  
  
The only problem was that in order to administer the radiation in a dosage that wouldn't kill Chekov and Bones right away, it had to be emitted in an extremely tight focus. The emitters in the decon chamber were useless for that purpose, but the scanning chamber in Medical would be able to deliver the exact amount of radiation with only a few adjustments. Scotty and Spock had altered the modifications according to M'Benga's calculations, and now it was only a matter of getting Chekov and Bones from decon to Medical.  
  
They had a plan for that.  
  
It involved an expansion of the quarantine zone between decon on D-Deck and Medical on G-Deck. The main Medical Bay had to be cleared completely and all patient traffic was diverted to the two auxiliary bays, where the remaining medical staff were holding things together while M'Benga was tied up with the transfer. Effectively, these measures cut off a large part of the ship, but Jim was beyond caring. If it saved Chekov and Bones, Jim was willing to do far more than isolate environmental controls of a large section of the ship.  
  
Besides, Scotty had taken care of the quarantine expansion, so Jim trusted that everything had been double-checked. He wanted for Bones and Chekov to live, but not at the cost of exposing the rest of his crew to the virus. Security was the reason why preparations had taken up a lot of time. Nearly too much, if the worried way M'Benga had been watching the readings from the decon chamber was any indication. But despite his worries about Chekov and Bones, Jim couldn't allow this virus to escape, not as contagious as it was.  
  
Which was why Jim wasn't going to allow anyone but M'Benga and himself to enter the quarantine zone. Even with the EV-suits, it was still a risk Jim wasn't willing to expose any other member of his crew to.  
  
Of course, Spock had a whole list of reasons why Jim wasn't supposed to even get anywhere near the quarantine zone, but it wasn't as if Jim was going to give in to his reasoning, no matter how logical it was. For the past hours, he hadn't been able to do anything but stand by and watch others trying to figure this out. It was about time he finally got to do something, even if it meant squeezing into one of those bulky EV-suits.  
  
After what had felt like hours of checking and double checking, now it was finally time. Scotty was overseeing the isolation process from Engineering while Spock kept an eye on things from the Bridge. In the unlikely case that something went wrong, Jim wanted them both as far away from the contamination zone as possible. If anything happened, Jim relied on them to stop the virus from infecting the rest of the crew.  
  
Jim drew a deep breath.  
  
This had to work.  
  
"Quarantine lockdown engaged, Sir," Scotty's voice rang out of Jim's earpiece. "Environmental controls and life-support are completely isolated from the rest of the ship's systems."  
  
"Lockdown confirmed," Spock added from the Bridge. "Quarantine zone is established. You may proceed, Captain."  
  
"Thank you, Mr. Spock."  
  
Jim cast one last look at M'Benga, who was looking more and more impatient the longer this took them, then opened the door into the airlock. Once they were inside and the airlock was sealed behind them, he waited for the visual confirmation that the seal was holding tight, and entered the command that opened the airlock to the contaminated D-Deck. Two gurneys had been placed into the airlock, and once their way down the corridor was clear, Jim took a hold of one and started pushing it down the corridor.  
  
"We need to hurry, Captain." The in-helmet comm system made M'Benga's voice sound tinny in Jim's ears. "Their readings are getting worse. We need to start the radiation treatment as soon as we can."  
  
Jim nodded to signal that he had understood, and quickened his steps as much as the suit would allow him to. The decon chamber wasn't far, and even though Jim had seen the video feed from the room just a few minutes ago, he was shocked at what he saw when M'Benga disengaged the lock and they stepped in.  
  
Chekov and Bones were lying on their bunks, both virtually motionless. Jim's heart did a painful stutter in his chest, and he had to take a long, motionless look to convince himself that Bones' chest was in fact still lifting with his breaths.  
  
M'Benga had immediately stepped up beside Chekov, his tricorder out and beeping as he scanned the young ensign. He straightened up and turned towards Jim, his face drawn and urgent behind the visor of his EV-suit.  
  
"We need to hurry. He's going into oligemic shock."  
  
Jim had no idea what that meant, but he could read the expression on the other man's face clearly.  
  
There was no need to talk any further, and no need to waste any time or words on coordination or gentleness. Together they heaved first Chekov, then Bones onto the gurneys they had brought. There was no response from either of the two men as they manhandled them around, absolutely none. No sound, no movement, no sign of coherency or awareness. It scared Jim, maybe more than anything else up until this point had. They were running out of time too quickly.  
  
They still didn't speak a word as they moved the gurneys down the corridors towards the nearest turbolift. Scotty had drawn up the fastest route from D-Deck to Medical on G-Deck, and in theory it had all looked good, but right now all Jim could feel was that the corridors were too long and the turbolift seemed too slow. Everything seemed to slow them down, and under the too thick material of his EV-suit, Jim felt the sweat drip down his neck and roll down his back.  
  
Finally, after what seemed like enough time to have crossed the ship from one end to the other, they were finally pushing the gurneys into Medical Bay, and Jim felt something small that he didn't dare call hope yet flare up inside of him.  
  
"Quick, we need to get Ensign Chekov on the scanner bed."  
  
Jim obeyed without conscious thought, lifting the young man's by his shoulders as M'Benga took his legs and together they lifted him from the gurney. It was only when they put him down on the scanner bed that Jim got the feeling that something was wrong.  
  
For a moment, Jim had no idea what it was, but the realization took only a moment, no longer than a second to catch up. Eyes wide, Jim looked up at M'Benga.  
  
"Doc, he's not breathing."  
  
  


*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

  
  
  
On the Bridge, a few decks above them, everyone seemed to stop breathing for a moment as they listened to their Captain's voice over the comm. So engrossed were they that nobody took notice as Uhura leaned over towards Sulu, who was standing beside her station, and spoke in a low voice.  
  
"I told you. Someone _always_ dies."


	7. Chapter 7

**_Chapter 6_**  
  
  
"He's not breathing," Jim repeated, even as M'Benga was already rolling a tray of equipment up beside the scanner bed. But all Jim could think about, all he could see, was the fact that Chekov was lying there on the bioscanner bed, pale as a wraith, and _not_ breathing.  
  
"Step aside, Captain."  
  
Jim did, automatically, because this at least he knew, even if it made him feel horribly helpless. But it wasn't the first time that he stood by and watched someone else save a life, and if his job right now was to stand on the sideline, then at least he knew how to do that. Surely the odds had to be in M'Benga's favor. They had saved more crewmembers than they had lost so far on their journey, most of them here in this very room, and Jim refused to allow Chekov to end up on the wrong side of that equation.  
  
M'Benga quickly scanned Chekov once more, then he pulled out a small case and put it atop of the instrument tray. Jim's eyes were still focused on Chekov, but when he heard the doctor curse through his intercom, he turned his head – just in time to see M'Benga trying to undo the seals on the gloves of his EV-suit. Before he even knew what he was doing, Jim crossed the distance between them and slapped the doctor's hand away.  
  
"What the hell are you doing?"  
  
M'Benga just looked at Jim, very calmly, as he tried to pull his arms out of the Captain's grip. Jim knew that they had no time for this, that _Chekov_ had no time for this, but he wasn't going to let M'Benga risk infection without at least a damn word of explanation. They already had one doctor out of commission.  
  
"This equipment wasn't designed to be handled in EV-gloves." M'Benga pointed at the case lying on the tray in front of him. The lid was flipped open, but inside something small and metallic was resting in a Styrofoam indentation. He immediately saw that M'Benga was right. With those clumsy gloves, there was no way M'Benga would even get the devices out of the case, let alone use them.  
  
The decision was as quick as it was clear. They were one doctor down already, and they couldn't afford to lose another right in the middle of a serious medical crisis.  
  
Jim reached for the seal of his own gloves.  
  
"Guide me through it."  
  
This time it was M'Benga who stopped Jim from breaking the seal on his suit with a bruising grip to his wrist.  
  
"Captain, you can't do that."  
  
"Spock can take over command for me, Doc. But right now, this ship and her crew need a doctor a whole lot more than they need me."  
  
M'Benga looked straight at Jim for a second, as if judging whether or not he was serious. But there was a flicker in his eyes because he, too, knew that they were almost out of time already. After only another second of hesitation, he released his grip on Jim's wrist and Jim lost no time undoing the airtight seal on first his right glove, then his left.  
  
There would be repercussions. Of course there would be. As infectious as this virus was, Jim had no doubt about his own chances of getting out of this unscathed, but he'd have plenty of time to think about that later. It had been the right choice. And right now, Chekov needed his complete focus.  
  
He took the helmet off, as well, and tossed it to the side, trying to ignore the fact that every breath of air he took was poisoned, and that by now the silicone virus was already making its way into his bloodstream, infecting everything it came across along its path.  
  
Later.  
  
"Take the electrodes and place them on his chest," M'Benga instructed as he unceremoniously tore the unconscious ensign's shirt apart to reveal his chest. "About twenty centimeters apart."  
  
Jim took the two electrodes out of the case, unwrapped them from their packaging and placed them in the two spots M'Benga indicated. The doctor indicated the medication storage along the wall.  
  
"We're going to need 40 units of Trinephedrine. It'll have to be injected directly into his heart."  
  
Jim's stomach did a little plunge at those words, but his feet were already moving without any involvement from his brain at all. It seemed that his body knew that they didn't have a second to spare, because every second they wasted was another second that Chekov wasn't breathing.  
  
He stopped in front of the shelf and reached for the emergency hypospray kit that was marked _Trinephedrine_. He was already reaching for it when M'Benga called out to him.  
  
"No, not that one, that's not going deep enough. The kit below it."  
  
Jim didn't think, he simply grabbed the right box and carried it over towards the instrument tray. It was only when he put it down and opened it that he realized what M'Benga had meant by _not deep enough_. Inside the case, wrapped in transparent sterile wrapping, was something that looked a little like a hypospray cylinder, with a needle attached on one end. A very big, very long needle.  
  
"Doc?"  
  
"No hypospray is going to get the medication right where the ensign needs it, Captain. It might look old-fashioned to you, but it works."  
  
Jim unwrapped the injector and stepped up beside the biobed.  
  
"What do I do?"  
  
"Place the needle beneath his sternum," M'Benga instructed calmly, even though they were running out of time, and he had to know that, but still remained so damn calm in the face of that. "Flatten the angle a little."  
  
Jim did, distantly wondering how it was possible that his hands weren't shaking too bad for him to hold the injector.  
  
"Now push the needle in. One quick motion, about three centimeters."  
  
Jim didn't give himself time to think because once he started, he was only going to hesitate. His hand moved and for a short moment he felt the resistance of Chekov's skin and muscle, and he felt his own skin crawl at the thought of what he was doing here, then the needle slid in. Jim judged the three centimeters, hoping and praying that he didn't go in too far, or not far enough.  
  
"Push the release, and step back from the bed."  
  
Jim depressed the small button on the side of the device, emptying the medication directly into Chekov's heart. Removing the needle was a lot less bad than inserting it had been, and as soon as the tip had cleared Chekov's skin Jim tossed it to the side and took a small step back. Bile was rising in his throat at the thought that he had just stuck a giant needle into his navigator's heart, and Jim gripped the edge of the nearest instrument table tightly enough so that the cold metal bit into his palm.  
  
It didn't even look too bad. Just a small red dot in the middle of Chekov's pale chest. Just like a bug bite, not the mark left by a needle directly to the heart.  
  
"Step back, Captain," M'Benga repeated, then pressed a button on the console he had been programming and suddenly Chekov's body jerked on the scanner bed, once, twice, three times. The movement nearly shook off the remains of his uniform shirt, but as M'Benga stopped the shocks his body sank back down, just as limp and lifeless as it had been before.  
  
Jim was biting his lip, and his fingers were digging so hard into his palms, his nails were leaving marks.  
  
"Come _on_ , Chekov."  
  
"300 millijoules," M'Benga announced. "Step back."  
  
Again, Chekov started to jerk as the electric shocks ran through his system. It were more shocks, and they lasted longer this time, but the end result was the same. Chekov sank back down like a toy with the batteries removed.  
  
"Captain…"  
  
"Again!" Jim demanded, cutting the doctor off before he had a chance to finish that sentence. There was that tone in M'Benga's voice, the one that said it was hopeless to keep on trying. It was the tone of voice that Jim wasn't going to allow in this room. He was not going to give Chekov up. No way.  
  
"340 millijoules."  
  
Chekov jerked, a cruel mimicry of someone shooting half-upright after a nightmare. Only that Chekov didn't stay like that, but flopped around a little before he sank down again, muscles loose, until he came to rest on the bioscanner bed just as prone as he had been before.  
  
Jim's heart was beating a frantic, almost desperate pace in his chest, and when he finally dared to look up at M'Benga, the doctor's dark eyes were regarding him with a pained gaze, yet his whole expression was determined and final.  
  
"I'm sorry, Captain."  
  
Jim was shaking his head, an almost automatic movement from one side to the other, as if he could somehow shake off the reality of what had just happened. Chekov wasn't…he couldn't be. As simple as that. He wasn't dead, and this was all a giant misunderstanding, and any moment now someone, maybe Spock, or maybe M'Benga himself, would come up with an explanation and an ingenious last-minute cure for this.  
  
Any moment now.  
  
Chekov couldn't be dead. It just couldn't be.  
  
Any moment now things were going to resolve themselves.  
  
"Captain, I need your help. We need to get Leonard into the scanning chamber."  
  
It was a blow of reality that felt like a fist to his gut, one that knocked the air out of him and rendered him unable to breathe, but somehow Jim was moving as soon as M'Benga had spoken those words. He didn't know how he did it, where he took the strength from when he was screaming inside, screaming at the unfairness and the sheer impossibility of it all. But for now his body seemed removed from his stunned grief, and Jim found himself moving alongside M'Benga, lifting Chekov's limp form off the bioscanner bed and carrying him over towards the nearest biobed.  
  
They needed to hurry. They needed to get Bones into the scanning chamber to give him the radiation treatment so that he didn't suffer the same fate as Chekov, but still Jim couldn't yet comprehend it, couldn't grasp the magnitude of what had just happened. Worse, and possibly one more point in his long list of personal failures, he couldn't stand to look at it.  
  
He couldn't look at it, and Chekov had earned better than to lie here like that, dead and exposed, for all the ship to see on the video links that were undoubtedly open on the Bridge, and probably other parts of the ship as well.  
  
There was a storage unit with sheets just behind the biobed, and Jim with drew one, unfolded it and draped it over the young navigator's body. He hesitated for a second with the sheet above Chekov's face, unwilling to admit the finality that was the act of covering him entirely, but once more he had to push his own feelings on the matter away.  
  
Later.  
  
There'd be time to think about this later, time to grieve and berate himself for what he had and hadn't and maybe could have done. For now, while there was still a chance, Jim had to help M'Benga to make sure that Bones was still going to be there when _later_ rolled around. Without him, Jim didn't know how he'd ever be able to pick up the pieces.  
  
Jim gently pulled the sheet over Chekov's face, then he spun around to help M'Benga lift Bones over onto the bioscanner bed. Once he had been placed, M'Benga typed a sequence into the controls, and Jim watched with bated breath as the bed slid into the scanner chamber and the access panel slid close behind him, shielding Bones from view as the radiation sequence was initiated.  
  
Jim felt most of his strength fade as the adrenaline ebbed away all at once, and he only realized that he was swaying where he stood when M'Benga took a firm grip on his arm and steadied him. The doctor didn't say anything, but even without words Jim understood that the odds were against them on this one, and that it would be a miracle in itself if this worked and Bones came out of that chamber healthy, and free of the virus.  
  
Jim found himself praying silently, to whoever might be listening, to grant him one more miracle in his life.  
  
  


*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

  
  
  
On the Bridge, everyone was watching the video feed from Medical with bated breath. Even Spock, who was seated behind his science station and not on the Captain's chair, hadn't taken his eyes off the screen, and thus he missed the glances the other officers had exchanged as they watched the progress of the Captain and doctor M'Benga as they transported Chekov and McCoy to Medical. But even without his sharp Vulcan hearing, he couldn't have missed the gasps as the crew watched how their Captain overrode M'Benga's decision to break quarantine on his suit and took the Doctor's place instead.  
  
The general reaction to this event on the Bridge was surprise, concern, maybe shock and, in Uhura's case, a visible confusion.  
  
"I don't understand," she said in a low voice as Kirk took off his helmet. The precaution was unnecessary, though, because everyone else was so focused on the proceedings in Medical that they wouldn't have paid her much notice even if she had shouted the words. "This has never happened before."  
  
Sulu, who was still watching the feed over her shoulder, turned to look at her.  
  
"In all those centuries, nobody has ever done that before?"  
  
Uhura shook her head. "No. Not once they knew it was hopeless."  
  
They kept watching with a strange fascination how the Captain and the Doctor fought for the Navigator's life, how the Captain kept demanding that the resuscitation attempts were kept up long beyond the point where it was obvious that he was already dead. And they watched and saw all the strength sag out of Kirk's body as the other doctor was eventually wheeled into the scanning chamber to receive the radiation treatment. It was then that Sulu could no longer hold the silence between them.  
  
"How many more have to die until you are willing to admit that humans are different? We have to stop this."  
  
Uhura looked around sharply to see if anybody was watching them, but everybody else was too focused on what was going on in Medical to pay them any mind. Nevertheless, she lowered her voice to a whisper that was too low even for the Vulcan to hear on the other side of the Bridge.  
  
"The incident isn't over. I will not depart from protocol. When the first death occurs, there's a sixteen percent chance that the rest of the crew will become infected."  
  
"What more would that teach us about them?"  
  
Uhura shook her head. "You are forgetting that all this would have happened whether we were here or not. We are not responsible for this."  
  
Sulu was silent for a long moment, deliberating that statement. Then he crossed his arms in front of his chest and turned away from her, his final words a murmur that was barely loud enough to reach her ears.  
  
"Maybe we should be."  
  
  


*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

  
  
  
Bones wasn't in the scanner chamber for long. Maybe a minute, two at the most. But it felt like an eternity to Jim as he stood outside and waited for the program to run its course.  
  
He didn't know what he expected to see once they pulled Bones out of the chamber, either. Bones sitting up, grumbling and complaining up a storm that it had taken them so long to figure out a cure, Bones awake and looking at him, or just any sign that this treatment had had some sort of effect. Jim didn't know. It seemed like he no longer knew anything.  
  
But when they pulled Bones out of that chamber and he looked just the same as he had going in, pale and covered in sweat, his cheeks flushed from fever, and his body radiating heat against Jim's hands where he placed them on Bones' shoulders, Jim knew. He knew it before M'Benga even looked up at the screen to check the latest scan results.  
  
"I'm sorry, Captain."  
  
Jim's hands tightened reflexively around Bones' shoulders, but not even the hard grip evoked any kind of response.  
  
He didn't want to hear it. If he just didn't listen, he wouldn't have to acknowledge that this was happening.  
  
Bones wasn't dying.  
  
"It's not your fault, Doc," Jim rasped out in a voice that wasn't his own.  
  
And it wasn't M'Benga's fault. It was nobody's fault but Jim's, because eventually it was always his fault when the people he cared for, the people he loved, came to harm. One way or another, no matter how distant and seemingly insignificant the correlation, it always was his fault.  
  
M'Benga kept talking, even though Jim's eyes were still locked to Bones' pale and unmoving face.  
  
"There's…there's nothing more I can do for Leonard, Captain. But you still have a few hours left. Commander Spock and I will keep working on this. We still have some time."  
  
Jim nodded, even though he couldn't care less about whether or not M'Benga and Spock even bothered to find a cure. They hadn't managed to save Chekov and Bones, and right now it didn't feel as if his own life was worth saving when they hadn't been able to save them.  
  
Besides, even though M'Benga was trying, he wasn't a very good liar. Jim knew that other than the radiation treatment, he and Spock hadn't come up with another way to cure this virus. Still, working on it would keep the crew occupied, would give them time to prepare for the inevitable. And it would give Jim some time alone with Bones, and with Chekov, and the way he had failed them both.  
  
He forced himself to look up at M'Benga.  
  
"You should be working from the Bridge, or the Science labs. Less chance of exposure than here."  
  
M'Benga nodded. "We'll keep looking, Captain."  
  
Jim forced himself to smile. "I'll be right here."  
  
M'Benga looked as if he wanted to say something else, but in the end he merely gave another nod and turned towards the door. Jim waited until he heard the hiss of the door sliding close again, then he sagged a little against the bed that held Bones, his eyes focused on his friend's pale face as he breathed deeply a couple of times to get his voice back under control.  
  
"Kirk to Spock."  
  
He didn't doubt for one second that the comm lines from Medical towards the Bridge were still wide open, and he wasn't disappointed when Spock answered immediately.  
  
"Spock here."  
  
"I take it you've seen what happened."  
  
"I have," Spock merely replied, and just this once, Jim would have wished for some sort of reaction, for any trace of an emotional response. Just this once, Jim would have been reassured to know that he wasn't the only one who felt suffocated by what had just happened, and what was yet to come. But even after all these years, Spock still couldn't get out of his skin, couldn't give Jim the response he was hoping for.  
  
"Then you know that you are now officially in command."  
  
"I am aware, Captain."  
  
"Jim," Jim corrected almost automatically. There'd be no medical miracle for him, and there was no time like the present for Spock to get used to the fact that it was his title now.  
  
"Jim," Spock acquiesced. "I will resume my research with Doctor M'Benga promptly."  
  
Jim only nodded, even though he knew that Spock had to be aware how hopeless this endeavor was.  
  
"You do that. Let me know if you find anything. Just do me one favor, Spock."  
  
"What would that be?"  
  
Jim drew a breath and looked up at the nearest monitor, where Spock's face was calmly looking back at him.  
  
"Cut the video feed."  
  
For what was about to come next, Jim really didn't want or need an audience, and this time, the Vulcan seemed to understand. Spock nodded solemnly.  
  
"Of course. I will contact you again to update you on our findings."  
  
"You do that. Kirk out."  
  
Spock nodded once more, then the video screen went blank and Jim sagged against the side of the scanner bed with a deep sigh.  
  
"God, Bones." One hand unclenched from the bed's hard edge to seek out Bones' warmth, only to find unnatural heat as it settled against his chest. "Don't do that to me."  
  
Because that was what it eventually boiled down to, wasn't it? His own selfish needs, his own unwillingness to let go. But it wasn't Bones' time yet, either, and it seemed so _wrong_ to let him go now, long before he was old and grey and had lived a lifetime of grumping and griping about everyone and everything in the entire universe. It wasn't Bones' time to go.  
  
Only that it was, and the chest underneath Jim's hand was struggling to lift with every slow, labored breath he took. Jim felt himself drifting, clawing at every available straw as his world crumbled around him, but there was no escaping it. Every time Bones drew a week breath it was a relief, a fragment of a second of hope flaring up, only to be replaced by the gut-churning fear that this had been the last one, that there'd be no more to follow.  
  
Every time Bones' chest rose underneath Jim's hand, he had to choke down a small sob of relief, and every second in between those breaths turned something inside of him to ice. He wanted to shake Bones, wanted to yell at him and demand or order him not to go, but he couldn't move, could only stand there and keep his hand pressed against Bones' chest, waiting for the slow rise of the next breath, and the terrifying moments between the exhale and the next breath.  
  
Inhale.  
  
Exhale.  
  
Inhale.  
  
Unconsciously, Jim's own breathing matched itself to Bones', as if he could somehow breathe for his friend, breathe for both of them until Spock and M'Benga had figured out a cure.  
  
Inhale.  
  
Exhale.  
  
Inhale.  
  
Exhale.  
  
Inhale.  
  
Bones' breaths were getting more labored, more infrequent, and the pauses in between grew longer. Jim was biting his lip hard enough to taste blood, but he was completely and utterly helpless against this.  
  
And when finally Bones' chest lowered with one last, deep exhale and didn't rise again, there was nothing Jim could do but stand there and let him slip away.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 7**  
  
  
Jim felt like he was the one who couldn't breathe anymore.  
  
Standing there, looking at Bones' still chest, something was rising up inside of him, something deep and ugly that grew and grew until it blocked his chest and his throat felt too tight to breathe. A burning pressure was building up behind his eyelids, and it was hard to focus his gaze as he turned his eyes away from Bones' still face to look up at the monitor above the bed. The controls were beeping softly in alarm, and even without an extensive study of medicine it wasn't too hard to understand the readings.  
  
No pulse. No respiration. No brainwave activity.  
  
Bones was dead.  
  
A choked sob tore free from somewhere deep inside Jim's chest, and when he looked back down at Bones' face, his vision was blurred so much that he had to blink a couple of times to bring his friend's pale face into focus. A hot trail of moisture ran down one of his cheeks, but Jim barely noticed anything but the sight of Bones, unmoving and so horribly lifeless in front of him, and the feel of his still chest beneath his palm.  
  
Bones' skin might still feel warm from the fever, but it was only a matter of time before he was going to feel cold to the touch. And it…it just couldn't be. It wasn't fair. It wasn't…it wasn't _right_. A world without a living, breathing Bones in it wasn't right, wasn't supposed to exist.  
  
Jim's hand slowly slid off Bones' chest, and he took a step or two back from the biobed, the fingers of his hand coming up to press tightly against his lips, as if trying to keep everything inside that was threatening to spill out of him at that moment, all the anguish and anger, the denial and gut-wrenching fear of a life without Bones.  
  
Then Bones opened his eyes.  
  
"I have so much respect for you, Captain Kirk."  
  
Not even the hand in front of his mouth could hold back the startled gasp, and Jim's first instinct, his first thought was _Bones_ , and he wanted to laugh and cry at the same time about this inexplicable medical miracle. He didn't even want to question it, didn't want to know how it was possible, how it had happened, as long as it meant that Bones was still here, that he wasn't dead.  
  
But at the same time, he knew that it wasn't right, that something about this was horribly wrong. And it wasn't just the fact that Bones would never call him _Captain Kirk_. _Captain_ sometimes, when they were on duty, but else it was only ever _Jim_ , sometimes _kid_ , or the occasional variation of _you damn idiot_. But never, not once, did Bones call him by his name and title.  
  
And it was so much more than those two words that was wrong. It was the voice, too. Even though it was Bones' voice, and Jim's heart beat up a little faster at hearing it, something was immanently wrong with it.  
  
And then Bones sat up on the biobed, sliding his legs over the edge as he turned to look at Jim, and Jim knew for sure. It was Bones' body, but it definitely wasn't Bones looking at him right then. It was an eerie sensation, to see his friend's pale and sweat-lined face look back at him with such a foreign expression of curiosity and yet at the same time distance in his eyes. This was Bones, but something was inside him that wasn't Bones, that was so different from Jim's friend that it was impossible to ever confuse the two.  
  
"Who are you?" Jim rasped out, his voice hoarse and sharp, trying desperately not to let all the emotions that were running out of control inside of him show.  
  
Bones…the thing that _wasn't_ Bones slid closer to the edge of the bed, and out of the corner of his eye Jim saw that the readings on the monitor above the bed had spiked up again, showing those things that he had been so desperately wishing for – a heartbeat, brainwave activity – but on levels that were impossible for a human being.  
  
"What are you?" Jim corrected himself, his eyes never once leaving the creature that was inside of his best friend, trying not to get swept away in a wave of overwhelming relief at seeing Bones again, seeing those hazel eyes open and alive even though they were watching him with a strangely detached expression instead of the usual gruff fondness Bones was never able to hide completely.  
  
"I'm an Organian," the thing that wasn't Bones finally replied, using Bones' voice but without its usual lilt, like a piano that was slightly out of tune. "A non-physical life form."  
  
A non-physical life form that was inside of Bones, and now Bones was dead. It wasn't hard to make the connection.  
  
"What did you do to him?"  
  
"Nothing. We never interfere with the development of other species. We are merely here to observe."  
  
Normally, Jim was a quick thinker, but right now he had the feeling half of this conversation was passing him by. It was just too damn hard to focus on anything when Bones was dead, yet this…this _thing_ was using his body to communicate with him.  
  
"Observe what?"  
  
Bones' shoulders rose slightly as the Organian shrugged. "How different species react to a threat."  
  
And suddenly, it all made sense.  
  
"You knew about the silicon virus. You knew it was down on that planet all along."  
  
Something hard and unforgiving started to form in Jim's stomach as the Organian nodded.  
  
"The virus is the reason we come here. It's how we study other species."  
  
It was still Bones' body, and Bones was one of the people Jim could never harm in any way, and that was the only reason why he reigned in the sudden fury that took a hold of him and didn't pummel this Organian bastard into a bloody pulp.  
  
"This virus killed two members of my crew. You knew it was out there, and you didn't warn us? Instead you watched while we tried to save them? You just watched them die?"  
  
Something that could almost pass as regret showed in those hazel eyes.  
  
"I wanted to warn you, Captain. But the decision was not mine to make."  
  
Before Jim could even ask what the hell that meant, another voice cut into the stillness of Medical.  
  
"You're breaking all our rules."  
  
The Russian accent was still there, leaving no doubt as to who the speaker was, and Jim spun around just in time to see Chekov rise up on the biobed he had been lying on. The sheet Jim had so hesitantly drawn over him slipping off his face and body as he sat up. Jim took a startled step back as Chekov climbed down from the biobed, his torn uniform shirt hanging off his thin frame, revealing the electrodes Jim had placed on his chest what felt like a lifetime ago already.  
  
"I told you, our rules don't apply to this species," the Organian inside of Bones replied defiantly, even as Chekov stalked over towards the scanner bed with a determination and menace in his steps that the young navigator had never shown in life.  
  
"The decision is not ours to make. We follow the rules."  
  
"We have to _challenge_ the rules…"  
  
"I don't care about your damn rules," Jim interrupted the second he finally found his voice again. He wasn't going to be a silent bystander as those two creatures discussed their regulations as if there was nothing more important in the entire universe. He didn't give a damn about them. He only cared about one thing.  
  
"What happens to Bones and Chekov once you're done with their bodies?"  
  
The Organian in Chekov's body turned towards him. "We have to leave them as they are."  
  
"Dead."  
  
It killed Jim a little inside to say the word.  
  
The Organian nodded, and right there and then one thing was perfectly clear – it wasn't acceptable. And even if he had pretty much just stood by and watched this shitfest happen ever since Chekov and Bones had set foot on that damn planet, now at least this was back on ground that Jim knew his way around. He knew about negotiating, and about making even the most stubborn beings see sense. And right now, he wasn't above downright begging, either. But one thing was perfectly clear – if those Organians in any way had the power to reverse the effects of the virus, Jim wasn't going to stop until they used it. Chekov's and Bones' death was simply not an option.  
  
He took a step closer to the Organian that was using Chekov's body, never once breaking eye-contact with the being.  
  
"Listen, I know about not getting involved in the natural development of other species. It's a decision I have to make again and again, every single day that I'm in command. And it isn't easy."  
  
The Organian nodded. "So we are in agreement."  
  
"No. Because there's a line, one that you have to define anew each and every time. And sometimes you have to cross it. There's a difference between letting a species develop on their own, and not stopping them from running into their death blindly. This virus, our encounter with it, you could have stopped all that from happening."  
  
A curious expression crossed Chekov's face then, just as if the Organian didn't get Jim's point.  
  
"Then how would we have learned about humans?"  
  
"How would you…you could have talked to us! We're talking now, why couldn't you have done so before? If there's something you want to know about us, go ahead and ask! And if you're non-physical beings and have to inhabit my crewmembers to do so, then you'd damn well better give me a warning and ask for my permission first, but talking to us in the first place might have been a good start!"  
  
"Talking is a limited form of communication for us," the Organian replied almost with disdain. "We are much more evolved than humans."  
  
"Not from where I'm standing."  
  
The Organian inside of Chekov's body cocked his head to the side, an expression that was almost a challenge in his eyes.  
  
"Most of our abilities are beyond your scope of understanding…"  
  
Jim shook his head and cut the being short before it could even make its point.  
  
"You might have evolved into something I can't even comprehend, but from what I can tell you lost everything that's important along the way. You want to learn about humans? Then let me tell you something right now. You wanna know what gives our lives meaning? It's not just observation and knowledge. It's things like empathy, and compassion." He turned his eyes towards Bones as he spoke, but had to look away before he finished to stop the sudden lump in his throat from choking him. Something was starting to unravel inside of him, something warm and not altogether unwelcome, but he didn't have the time to contemplate it right now. "Things like love. That's what's holding us together. That's what makes us care about one another, but to you we're only lab rats that you can observe. You don't care what happens to us, so don't you dare tell me that you're so much more advanced than we are. You don't know anything about us. You observed us for so long and you probably still don't know the first thing about humans, or about the two crewmembers that you killed!"  
  
The Organian shook his head. "We know everything we need to know, and we learned everything we could about this crew. This body here," Chekov gestured down along his own body in a gesture that might have seemed comical under different circumstances. "His name is Pavel Andreievich Chekov, born Stardate…"  
  
" _Stardate 2241.178 in Moscow, Eurasian continent_ ," Jim interrupted. " _Serial number 656- 5827B. Rank Ensign, assigned navigator of the USS Enterprise_. It doesn't take any superior evolution to quote a personnel file, damn it! If that's all you know about him, then you don't know a damn thing. You don't know that he has a mother at home who's never going to laugh again once I call her and tell her that her son died out here, thousands of light years away from home. You don't know that he's the youngest crewmember aboard this entire ship, and that everyone else has been looking after him in one way or another ever since we left Spacedock. You don't know that sometimes, he still gets homesick, and that the only thing that'll help is to let him talk about his home, no matter if he keeps telling stories we've all heard dozens of times before. You have no idea that everyone aboard the ship is going to be heartbroken when the news break that he's dead, because he's more than what's in his personnel file to them!"  
  
Jim turned back towards Bones, unable to stop now that he had finally found a first outlet for the pain and rage that was threatening to consume him. It was a bit harder to face the Organian who was inhabiting Bones' body than it had been with the other, but Jim forced that turmoil of emotions away and didn't allow it to break his stride.  
  
"Or what do you know about Leonard McCoy? What's in his file, all those facts and stats? Where he was born, where he went to med school, when he received his last vaccination shots? Or do you know that of all the people here aboard, he's the one who's constantly thinking and worrying about everyone else, and last to think about himself? Do you know that whenever there's a medical crisis, he keeps working his ass off because he sees every single patient that he can't save as a personal failure? Do you know that he's the best friend I've had in my entire life and that…" Jim's voice broke and he had to swallow against his suddenly dry throat, though he couldn't stop his voice from turning raspy and on the verge of breaking as he continued. "…that he's the reason I'm still alive, in more ways than just one?"  
  
He shook his head and ran his hands across his face with a sigh, exhaustion suddenly making his limbs heavy.  
  
"You don't know. You probably don't care, either. But if you want to learn about humans, those are the things you should be looking for, not what's in any files, or for how long we keep struggling if someone we care for is about to die. We're connected, in one way or the other. You take out one of us, and it affects us all. Some more, and others less, but it still leaves a gap that everyone can feel. And if you still had a shred of conscience left in your _evolved_ state, then you wouldn't be standing by, watching how some of us die when you could have prevented it. If this is what you call a superior development, with rules as a piss-poor substitute for a moral compass, then I don't want any part of it."  
  
Maybe it was the shouting, or the virus had simply run through its first stage of infection inside Jim's body at just this moment, but as soon as he stopped speaking, hard, hacking coughs started to tear through his frame and he had to hold on to the nearest console for support as he desperately tried to draw air into his lungs.  
  
The Organians regarded him for a few long moments, the one inside Chekov with an almost exaggerated impassive notion on his face. It was him, too, who eventually spoke.  
  
"We're leaving now, Captain. You will not remember our presence. And in three to four hours, you will die as well."  
  
"No."  
  
It was hard to tell who was more startled, Jim or the thing inside Chekov's body, but they both spun around towards the second Organian.  
  
"Are you defying me?"  
  
By the sounds of it, the Organian possessing Chekov could not believe this to be possible, but the one controlling Bones pulled himself up to his full height and took a step towards the other.  
  
"I'm defying the entire protocol. What Captain Kirk did today, you said yourself that nobody had ever done that before."  
  
"And in time we're going to observe more humans. Then we will be able to judge those acts."  
  
"Or you could try to experience it for yourself," Jim replied, voice raspy and hoarse, threatening to set off another round of coughing. The two Organians turned towards him, and Jim got the feeling that this was his last chance to convince them of anything. He just didn't have the feeling he had much left to convince them with.  
  
"If you want to know about being human, about compassion, you should try and act like we do. Humans show compassion."  
  
Jim drew a deep breath and forced down the coughs that threatened to overcome him again. Looking at the Organians, he tried to gauge if his words had left any impact with them. But even though he was looking at two faces he knew so well that normally one look was enough to know what was going on inside these two men, right now he didn't see anything.  
  
It were the faces of two strangers looking back at him.


	9. Chapter 9

**_Chapter 8_**  
  
  
Jim felt like he was the one who couldn't breathe.  
  
Standing there, a few feet beside the biobed his best friend lay on, pale and unmoving, something started to rise up inside of him, something deep and ugly that grew and grew until it blocked his chest and his throat felt too tight to breathe.  
  
A burning pressure was building up behind his eyelids, and it was hard to focus his gaze as he turned his eyes away from Bones' still face to look up at the monitor above the bed.  
  
No pulse, no respiration, no brainwave activity.  
  
Jim was absolutely sure that that's what he saw on the display above the bed, that for a moment, all the medical displays were at zero. He was sure, and deep down inside he also felt it. He knew that Bones was dead.  
  
But then, from one moment to the next, every display suddenly went haywire, vital stats peaking radically before they began to level out, and Jim took a step back in shock as suddenly Bones convulsed right in front of his eyes. He jerked upright with no warning and sucked in a huge breath, only to convulse into a coughing fit of epic proportions.  
  
Jim didn't remember moving, but the next thing he knew he was at Bones' side, one hand against his back – which was warm, but no longer feverish – while the other tried to still the frantic movements of Bones' arms.  
  
"Bones, are you all right?"  
  
If Bones heard him, he didn't give an answer, but even though Jim didn't understand, it was happening right in front of his eyes. Bones was alive. And that was good. Great, really, but Jim remembered Bones dying, he remembered his own hand resting atop his friend's chest as it had stopped moving in time with his breaths, and he didn't understand what the hell was going on here. He just couldn't explain it.  
  
After a few moments, the coughing stopped, and Bones' breathing started to get back to normal, and only then did Jim become aware of movement behind him. Turning around, his heart gave a funny jolt in his chest as he saw Chekov sitting up on the biobed he had been lying on, eyes wide in obvious confusion. He was still pale, but compared to earlier, he looked almost healthy again, and Jim felt the corners of his mouth stretch into the first real smile he could remember for a long time.  
  
"Chekov!"  
  
It made even less sense because Chekov _had_ been dead, no doubt about it. He had been dead for even longer than Bones, and M'Benga had been there while he died. There was no mistaking that the young navigator had been dead, but now he was sitting there, wide awake and with no apparent outward sign of damage.  
  
As if Jim's addressing him had been the moment to break a spell, Chekov started speaking, gesturing wildly as he slid off the bed and carefully stood on legs that had been too weak to support his weight less than an hour ago. He was talking nonstop, his words a curious mixture of Standard and Russian that was too fast for Jim to process at that moment when all he could think of was that both Chekov and Bones were alive when by all rights they should be – and had been – dead.  
  
Bones' voice soon joined the cacophony of sounds in Jim's ears, a mumbo-jumbo of exclamations and questions that should have been confusing and hurtful to his ears, but which made Jim wish that it would never end. He wanted to throw back his head and laugh, for the first time in his life ready to accept something without questioning _how_ it had happened. Those questions were for later, if this really turned out to be true, but for now Jim wanted nothing but cling on to the fact that right now it seemed and felt real.  
  
For now, he followed the sudden urge to walk over to Chekov, ruffle up that mop of hair and pull the younger man into a tight embrace. He didn't slap Chekov's back even though he wanted to, but he was still too confused, too worried that his mind was only making this up in his grief, that it all might vanish if only he made a wrong move, even though Chekov felt real against him, warm and alive.  
  
And then he released the even more confused young navigator and, as if he was following an inner beacon forever honed in one direction, turned right back towards Bones, pulling him into an even tighter embrace before the good doctor even had a chance to complain.  
  
Bones, too, felt real against him, skin warm but not hot from the fever anymore, chest moving softly against Jim's as he breathed, and faintly Jim could even feel the gentle thudding of Bones' heart against his own chest. Bones was still talking, Jim could feel the soft vibration of his voice as he pressed himself as closely as possible against the other man, but amidst the confusion and this almost overwhelming feeling of relief and joy, Jim could only make out jumbled parts.  
  
He could have gladly stayed like this forever, confused and not understanding but simply reveling in the fact that Bones was there, that he was alive and this nightmare had turned out all right in the end, but after too short a time Bones moved away from him, gripping Jim's arms with almost enough force to bruise as he tried to create some distance between them. But even that firm grip was proof that Bones was not dead, and Jim would wear the bruises proudly if only it meant that this was real, and that it would stay real.  
  
Bones' eyes, when he finally managed to move Jim far enough away to see, were wide and confused, with an underlying notion of worry and something that was almost anger. He was still talking, but Jim only forced himself to listen to the words instead of just the sound of Bones' voice as the other man shook him non too gently.  
  
"Jim! What are we doing in Medical? And why the hell are you not suited up? Are you out of your goddamn mind breaking quarantine?"  
  
It was so typically Bones, this reaction of overbearing protectiveness, and Jim wanted to laugh at the fact that he had the chance to experience it again. He would have laughed and pulled Bones close again if he hadn't thought such a reaction wouldn't go over too well with his friend. But he didn't know if he had any words to relate to Bones what exactly had happened during these past horrible hours. He still didn't understand most of it, himself. To be honest, he didn't even know if he was able to speak at all.  
  
"Damn it all to hell, Jim. This whole deck better be locked up tighter than a Ferengi vault, and you'd better have a damn good reason for breaking quarantine, because if not, so help me…"  
  
"You were dead." Jim blurted out, and it was almost comical how quickly those words shut Bones up.  
  
"What?"  
  
"You…first Chekov, then you. You were dead. I had to break quarantine because M'Benga couldn't handle the equipment with the EV-suit, and the ship needed him more than me, but then Chekov died, and the radiation treatment didn't work either, and then you died, but now you're alive and I know it doesn't make sense, but…"  
  
Bones shook him again, and Jim was grateful for it because he didn't quite know if he'd have been able to stop talking otherwise.  
  
"All right, all right, one thing after another. You're going to sit down on that biobed now while I get a tricorder, and while I make sure that you haven't infected yourself with this virus from those idiotic heroics, you can tell me what the hell happened. From the beginning."  
  
Jim thought that M'Benga or Spock might be better suited for the task, and now that he thought about it he started to wonder why they hadn't already come running to check up on the situation themselves, but then he remembered that Spock had cut the video feeds to Medical. Jim hadn't wanted an audience around as Bones died, but right now that meant nobody else on the ship even _knew_ what was happening here.  
  
Instead of sitting down on the biobed Bones had indicated, Jim hurried over towards the nearest wall console and hit the comm button.  
  
"Kirk to the Bridge."  
  
It took only a moment for Spock to answer. "Spock here."  
  
"Spock, you and M'Benga need to get down here right now!"  
  
For a second, there was an almost confused silence.  
  
"Doctor M'Benga and I are currently perusing an alternative approach to rendering this virus harmless. Are you sure we cannot assist you from the Bridge?"  
  
"Bones just woke up."  
  
That statement wasn't met with the astonished enthusiasm Jim had expected, and he didn't understand why that was so until suddenly M'Benga took over and replied.  
  
"If he's in pain, there should be a hypospray cartridge labeled…"  
  
"No! No, you don't get it. He's awake, and he's fine. Talking up a storm, actually, and already waving around a tricorder again. Chekov, too. Well, he's awake, not waving a tricorder, but…oh, you know what I mean!"  
  
This time, the silence lasted longer, and M'Benga's voice, when he replied, sounded genuinely worried.  
  
"Captain, Ensign Chekov is dead."  
  
Jim turned his head to find that Chekov had submitted much more willingly to Bones' medical authority than he himself ever had. And judged by the expression on Bones' face as he ran his tricorder along Chekov's torso and studied the readings, the piece of news that Chekov was dead seemed a little…outdated.  
  
Spock and M'Benga probably had to see it for themselves to believe it.  
  
"Just get down here, both of you. Maybe one of you can explain to me what the hell happened."  
  
He pushed the button to break the connection before either man on the Bridge had a chance to reply. He figured Spock would reestablish the video link to Medical, and then it was only a matter of minutes before the two of them showed up down here. For now, Jim had other things to do, and if the way Bones was impatiently tapping his foot against the floor, a physical was first thing on that particular list.  
  
  


*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

  
  
  
It took about five minutes until Spock and M'Benga arrived in Medical, and considering that both of them had suited up in EV-suits, they must have broken some sort of speed record getting here. Jim was surprised at his own relief as both M'Benga and Spock took in Bones and Chekov with a degree of surprise and puzzlement that mirrored his own. Somewhere, deep down, he _had_ been afraid that this was nothing but a manifestation of his mind playing tricks on him over the grief of losing these two men, but if Spock and M'Benga could see it as well, it was no illusion.  
  
Bones was quickly relieved of the tricorder he had been brandishing like a weapon, and while his transition from doctor to patient didn't go smoothly, or without grumbling and complaining, in the end he had to surrender to M'Benga's unrelenting stare and sit down on the nearest biobed to let the other doctor examine him. It probably didn't help matters that both Bones and Chekov seemed horribly confused about everyone else's astonishment at them being alive and well. Bones at least had Jim's jumbled attempt at an explanation to hold on to, as well as his own medical knowledge on how improbable it was that they were alive and well when only hours ago this virus had been about to kill them.  
  
They were all confused, Bones, Jim, M'Benga, Spock – and Jim could see that, though the Vulcan tried not to let it on – and especially Chekov. It didn't get better over the course of the next hour, during which M'Benga scanned and examined them, drew blood samples and ran one comparative analysis after the other while Spock checked and double checked the environmental readings on the entire quarantine zone, looking for any remaining traces of the virus in the air or in the environmental filters.  
  
It only heightened the confusion, but there was nothing for them to find, no trace of the silicon virus in either Chekov's, Bones' or Jim's blood, nor in the air in the decon chamber, Medical, or anywhere else in the quarantine zone. The environmental filters were clear, and the only trace of the virus that could still be found was in the old blood samples that had been drawn hours ago.  
  
"I don't get it," M'Benga admitted in a resigned tone over an hour later. After they had run every test twice, three times or more, he and Spock had eventually discarded the EV-suits a little while ago, and now he was running his hand through his slightly sweaty hair. "There is no trace of the virus in either of your systems. All the damage the virus already did to Ensign Chekov and Leonard is gone, as if it had never happened in the first place. It doesn't even begin to compare to the earlier readings we took."  
  
Jim was glad that he wasn't the only one who didn't understand what was going on. Spock, M'Benga and Bones had seemed increasingly confused by the results they had gotten. Chekov, now clad in a scrubs shirt to replace his torn uniform, and Jim had been mostly reduced to sitting by and waiting for the moment when one of the men with a science degree would finally come to some sort of conclusive results.  
  
Apparently, those results were not really providing any answers at all.  
  
Spock stepped away from the console he had been working on. "It would appear that the virus is even more unpredictable than we initially assumed."  
  
M'Benga sagged against the nearest bed with a sigh, and Jim looked in between the two of them with increased interest. He wanted to know what had happened, too, but at the same time with Bones' presence on the bed beside him and Chekov right in his line of sight, his relief outweighed his scientific curiosity. He only wanted to get out of here and let it all sink in, in the privacy of his quarters, and preferably with a lot of alcohol to help along the way.  
  
M'Benga shook his head at Spock's words. "Unpredictable doesn't even begin to cut it. The only explanation that makes sense is that somehow, the radiation treatment not only had a delayed effect on Leonard's system, but also spilled over to Ensign Chekov and the Captain and cured them as well. And if that's the only explanation that makes sense we're pretty much screwed, because medically speaking it doesn't make any sense at all. It's impossible, that's what it is."  
  
Spock inclined his head. "I ran a detailed analysis on the data from Ensign Chekov's biobed. The readings suggest the presence of minimal brainwave activity even after his physical functions failed."  
  
M'Benga shook his head resolutely. "No. I don't care what your data says, I know how to read a damn biobed display. When I declare someone dead, you can bet that they are." He looked up at Chekov. "Don't get me wrong, Ensign. I'm glad you're still around, but there's no chance in hell I was wrong earlier."  
  
Chekov's eyes widened, and it was almost comically obvious that he had absolutely no idea how to take that statement. In the end, he settled on a shrug.  
  
"I don't feel dead, if that helps you any."  
  
M'Benga huffed out a sound somewhere between a frustrated sigh and a laugh.  
  
"No, you're definitely not dead _now_ , that much is sure. In fact, all your readings are pretty much on the same level they were during your last physical three weeks back. Same goes for the both of you, as well." He looked up at Jim and Bones, who were still sitting side by side on the biobed. "I'm afraid this one will have to go down with the unsolved mysteries."  
  
Jim decided that this was a good moment to interrupt on a more personal matter.  
  
"Does that mean we can go?"  
  
Bones' head whipped around, eyebrows drawn together in the way they only ever did when he thought Jim had said something particularly stupid, but M'Benga merely shrugged.  
  
"I don't see any reason to keep you here, but then again I don't understand what the hell is going on here, anyway. But there's no trace of the virus in either of your systems, so I don't see why you can't spend the night in your quarters instead of here. Commander?"  
  
He turned towards Spock for confirmation, but the First Officer seemingly had nothing to add.  
  
"I concur with Doctor M'Benga's opinion."  
  
Bones grumbled something that was too low even for Jim to hear, but which in all probability was some sort of remark about not getting asked for his professional opinion in his own damn Sickbay, so Jim wasn't going to ask. He really only wanted to get out of here as quickly as he could. Hopping down from his perch on the biobed, he forced a fake smile onto his face.  
  
"Great. Thanks a lot, Doc. Spock, how about a debriefing tomorrow, 08:00 ship time?"  
  
Spock nodded in agreement, but M'Benga interfered. "Better make that 08:30, Captain. I want the three of you back here bright and early tomorrow morning. I won't clear either of you for duty before I've run some additional tests, just to make sure."  
  
Jim nodded, even though the last thing he wanted was to come back here, to the room where Bones had died, anytime soon. But as far as tenacity about medical treatment went, M'Benga had taken a leaf out of Bones' book, and Jim knew when a battle was hopeless.  
  
"All right. Commander, even though I'm not back on duty yet," he cast a glare at M'Benga which the doctor ignored with an air of indifference that had to be yet another lesson from the School of Bones, "I would suggest we remain in steady orbit, with our sensors on the lookout for any other ships in the system. Ask Uhura to prepare a warning buoy to be left in orbit, programmed in all the languages she can think of. This isn't going to happen to anyone else."  
  
Spock inclined his head slightly. "Of course, Captain. Though I would suggest that for now, you as well as Ensign Chekov and Doctor McCoy follow Doctor M'Benga's earlier suggestion and get some rest. It has been a…very taxing day."  
  
Jim nodded and clasped a hand against Spock's shoulder. "You're right."  
  
Instead of leaving Medical, though, Jim went over to where Chekov was still sitting somewhat forlornly and confused on the biobed.  
  
"You'll be all right, Chekov? Anything you need before you get some rest?"  
  
The young ensign's eyes widened as Jim singled him out, and he immediately shook his head. "No, Captain. I am fine."  
  
Jim forced himself to smile and nod, even though he wanted nothing more than to tell Chekov that there was no shame in admitting it if he didn't want to be alone for the rest of the night. Spending the better part of a day in isolation, thinking that very soon he was going to die, would have taken it out of most people. But Jim knew Chekov well enough to know that he wasn't going to ask for anything, not here, not now. Jim would just have to make sure that Chekov got a little respite no matter if he asked for it or not. First thing tomorrow, he'd brief Uhura about he warning beacon, then he'd ask her to establish a connection to Earth. If anything was going to help Chekov deal, it would be that.  
  
It didn't make Jim feel good to give Chekov the notion of personal concern and simply leave Bones in Medical without another word, but he couldn't help it. It was all he could do to thank M'Benga and Spock for all they had done, then the old and ingrained instinct to get out, to _run_ took a hold of him and he had no choice but to follow.  
  
He couldn't face Bones. Not after he had watched his friend die. Seeing that had torn something open inside of him, and until he had figured out a way to deal with all those feelings that were suddenly welling up, threatening to pull him under, he couldn't confront him. No, he needed to get out of here, _now_ , until he was back in control of himself.  
  
It was all he could do not to run down the corridor towards the nearest turbolift. He only had half his attention on what was going on around him, absently nodding to the few crewmembers he met along his way. A distant corner of his mind registered that the quarantine zone was no longer in existence, and that things on the ship were going back to normal at the same effective and rapid pace they always did after a crisis. He kept that thought in mind for tomorrow, when he was going to have to be Captain again and could spare a moment to think about these things, complement the responsible crewmembers and do whatever else was expected of him, but right now he only wanted to get to the safety of his own quarters as quickly as possible.  
  
It wasn't a long distance, and though he had never timed it before, Jim had the distinct feeling that today of all days, it took so much longer until the turbolift arrived on D-Deck and he all but hurried out and over towards the door of his quarters. His fingers felt strangely numb as he typed in his code, and he was in before the door had even opened fully.  
  
He had thought, _hoped_ really, that just being back here, with the door firmly closed between himself and the rest of the ship, would help him get a grip on himself. But if anything, the lump in his throat that had been there ever since he had stood by as Bones weakly struggled for his last breaths just continued to grow. Just a little while ago, a shower had sounded like just the right thing to try and wash this day away, but right now Jim barely had enough energy left to stumble around the partition that separated his bedroom from the main area of his quarters and drop on his bed.  
  
The lump in his throat was still growing, making it hard to breathe. He thought he could still feel Bones' fever-ridden body underneath his palm, radiating heat even through the fabric of his shirt, could feel Bones struggle for every labored breath until his strength ran out and his chest went still under Jim's palm.  
  
It had been real. Too real. Bones had died.  
  
Choking down a sob, Jim pressed his face into his pillow and tried to will himself to forget.  
  
  


*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

  
  
  
In another part of the ship, Sulu and Uhura were walking slowly down an empty corridor.  
  
"You will be taking full responsibility for this," Uhura said in a scalding tone, but Sulu merely shrugged, a slight smile playing around the corners of his mouth.  
  
"I will. In fact, I am looking forward to delivering my first report. I am going to suggest we initiate first contact with the humans."  
  
Uhura stopped, her head cocked to the side briefly.  
  
"Preparations should take up a few centuries. Maybe by that time, they will be ready. Though I have my doubts."  
  
This time, Sulu did smile. "I have a feeling this hasn't been the last time they have surprised us. But I think it's time for us to leave. My host has the desire to pay a visit to Medical as soon as possible."  
  
Uhura nodded her assessment. After a few seconds, she and Sulu continued their way towards the Bridge, in no way perturbed by the question why they had been in the corridor in the first place.


	10. Chapter 10

**_Chapter 9_**   
  
  
Jim did his best to get some sleep, he really did. It had been a tough day, filled with too many close calls. Too many moments that went beyond being a close call, really. By all rights, now that everything was back the way it was supposed to, he should be dead on his feet. He should have no problems at all with falling asleep.  
  
Jim had lost crewmembers before. He was anything but cold towards that, and each of those deaths had followed him for a long time, but never had the mere thought of one of those deaths sent such an icy panic running through his gut as it did today. Hell, they hadn't even lost Chekov and Bones today. There was no reason for him to keep tossing and turning the way he did, chasing sleep that would not come.  
  
Only they _had_ lost Chekov and Bones. They might both be alive and well, both probably fast asleep in their quarters, but Jim had been _there_. He had been there when Chekov's heart gave out, he had been there when M'Benga declared him dead. He had been there when Bones stopped breathing and his chest stopped moving underneath Jim's hand. That had been _real_.  
  
And now, every time Jim closed his eyes, he was back there, staring down at Bones' pale face, nearly choking from the sensation of all those emotions suddenly welling up inside of him.  
  
Seeing Bones like that, seeing him _die_ …it had been different from anything Jim had ever felt. Jim had faced death before, more than once in his life – and far too often altogether if Bones' constant grumbling could be believed. But never before like this. The moment Bones had stopped breathing, Jim had felt…  
  
… _lost_. Not lost exactly, but it was the only word that came even close to describe his feelings at that moment. Lost. Hopeless. Like things didn't make sense anymore.  
  
It scared Jim.  
  
The mere thought of a life without Bones scared the crap out of him, and the degree of that reaction shocked him. Of course, Bones was his friend, and there was no denying that they were close. It was normal that the thought of his best friend dying caused him distress.  
  
But the more Jim kept telling himself that, the more he knew that it was different. It was more than that. Bones was more than that, so much more. And no matter for how long Jim kept tossing and turning in bed, trying to chase away the memories of Bones lying still and lifeless on that biobed, he couldn't stop thinking about it, couldn't stop thinking about how a life without Bones was not something he ever wanted to experience.  
  
Long after midnight, Jim gave up every pretence of trying to fall asleep.  
  
He put on a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt and started wandering around his quarters aimlessly, searching for something to occupy himself with. Come tomorrow, he was going to pay dearly if he didn't get some sleep at least, but even though he was physically exhausted, he was still far too wired.  
  
Normally, he would have tried to occupy himself with writing up his report, but today even that distraction was far out of reach. Without the details from Spock and M'Benga, it was completely useless to even try to start on it, and in all honesty Jim didn't know if he could face putting everything he had experienced down yet, anyway. Writing it down, confirming that it had happened, would only make it…real. Even though it had been real, and yet it wasn't, and just the thought of it made Jim's head spin and the nausea rise up in his throat.  
  
It was best if he didn't even think about writing this particular report. But that also meant he had nothing to do for now, and there was no other paperwork that needed to be done, either. He could probably find some tedious and boring task that would keep himself occupied, but that wasn't the point. It wasn't going to solve his problem. Right now, he really needed to sleep, but he couldn't do that until his mind came to rest somehow. Yet there was only one thing that could set his mind at ease and chase away those images that seemed seared into his brain.  
  
He checked the chrono. 1:22 am.  
  
Pretty late.  
  
But then again, maybe not too late. Jim was awake, too, after all, and he probably wasn't the only one aboard who wasn't sleeping even though he was off duty.  
  
There were different ways to find out whether or not Bones was still awake, and probably dropping in on him without any prior announcement was the worst possible choice amongst those. Using the comm beforehand might have been a better idea, but somehow while Jim's head was still deliberating, his feet had already taken him out of his quarters and along the corridors. By the time he arrived in front of Bones' door, he still hadn't really come to a conclusion as to whether or not this was a good idea.  
  
Maybe, before he even thought about possibly calling Bones out of bed by his visit, he should take the time to figure out why the hell he was even here in the first place. It was all too much, too many feelings Jim wasn't really used to suddenly too close to the surface, and he was afraid that if he only took a moment to really think about what it all meant, the result was going to unsettle him completely.  
  
It was probably for the best to delay all thinking for the time being.  
  
And he was here now, anyway. He might as well check if Bones was still awake.  
  
Jim's hand hovered next to the button that would ring the chime for a second, but then he let it drop again with a sigh. If Bone was already asleep, waking him up would only put him in a foul mood. And really, Jim only wanted to check, he only needed to _see_ with his own eyes that Bones was really alive and well, that he was still all right. Even if he was sleeping already. If Jim could only see that for himself, it might put his mind at ease enough for him to get some much needed sleep himself.  
  
He didn't even need to use his Captain's override code. The codes to their quarters had never been a secret between him and Bones, not back at the Academy, and neither here aboard Enterprise. It probably violated a number of security protocols – actually, now that he thought about it, it _definitely_ was a security level breach if the Captain handed out his private access code – but while Jim had been willing to make a lot of concessions when he became Captain, giving up this part of his friendship with Bones hadn't been one of them.  
  
Surely, it wasn't abuse of that knowledge if Jim for once used the code to make sure that Bones was all right. It didn't matter that rationally he _knew_ that if anything had changed, he would have been the first who was notified. Rationality had gone out the window the moment Chekov and Bones had died.  
  
Jim only needed to check up on Bones, just for a second. Surely, the other man couldn't begrudge him that. So Jim only hesitated for a moment before he raised his hand again and entered the sequence into the keypad.  
  
The sound of the door opening seemed incredibly loud in the stillness of the corridor, and Jim quickly entered Bones' quarters before he could think twice about it. Just a quick look, just to make sure that all was well, then he'd leave again.  
  
Bones never had to know.  
  
The room was dark, but Jim knew the layout, and there was enough light streaming in from the corridor for Jim to make out the shapes. Bones' quarters, like all officer's quarters aboard Enterprise, consisted of one room that was only marginally larger than the rooms for the rest of the crew. The Captain's quarters' separated sleeping area was really a luxury aboard a ship where every square meter of available space had a designated purpose. Right now, though, the smaller officer's quarters gave Jim the advantage to be able to see Bones right away.  
  
The single bunk was placed along the wall to Jim's right, and though the light from the corridor didn't reach that corner of the room, Jim could see Bones' outline under the sheets, and he could hear the other man's deep and regular breathing. It should be enough. That was what he had come here for, after all, right? He had come to check that Bones was alive and well, and he wouldn't be lying there fast asleep if he wasn't. Something inside of Jim that had been tense ever since he had left Sickbay relaxed, but despite the visual assurance he didn't turn around and leave again.  
  
It was just a split second of hesitation, but it was enough time for the door sensors to register the lack of movement. Jim flinched as the door slid close with a pneumatic hiss that sounded far too loud in the otherwise silent room. A moment of absolute silence followed, then the Bones-shaped lump on the bed started moving.  
  
 _Please, don't wake up._  
  
Jim didn't want to have to explain himself, didn't want to have to come up with a reason why he was stalking his friend's bedroom at night, but at the same time a small voice in the back of his head wouldn't shut up about how reassuring it would be to hear his friend's voice, as well. Just to make sure.  
  
"Whaswrong?" Bones asked. His voice was deep and gravelly, stirring something in Jim's gut that he didn't know how to place, and the question was accompanied by the sound of more shifting. Jim knew that he'd have to say something quick. It didn't take much to wake Bones up, and if Bones was woken up without a good and proper reason, grump of epic proportions was bound to follow.  
  
"It's all right. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you. Go back to sleep."  
  
More intelligible grumbling as Bones shifted around further. When he spoke again, his voice sounded more awake. "Lights, ten percent."  
  
Jim blinked against the sudden light in the room, dim as it was, to find that Bones had sat up on the bed and was rubbing at his eyes with the fingers of one hand for a moment before he blinked back at Jim tiredly. His hair was standing up at odd angles on the left side, and there was a slight crease from the pillow running across his left cheek. Jim found the sight oddly fascinating, and could only tear his eyes away once Bones spoke again.  
  
"What's wrong?" He repeated, less slurred this time, though he was obviously still struggling to get to a state that could be called fully awake. "Don't tell me the ship's on fire."  
  
Jim chuckled, even though he didn't feel like it. "No, the ship's fine. I…I should go, and let you go back to sleep."  
  
Retreat was really the only option here, and at least it would give him some time to figure out an explanation for this nightly visit. Jim turned and made a step towards the door when Bones' voice held him back.  
  
"Jim."  
  
Jim stopped, but didn't turn around. "I'm sorry Bones. It could have waited."  
  
"What could have? You're here now, might as well spill."  
  
Jim shook his head, rubbing one hand over his face tiredly. Of course right now his brain chose the moment to desert him. All evening long, it had been running in overdrive, circling through the same thoughts and images over and over again, but right now he couldn't think of a single clever thing to say to deflect from the pathetic true reason why he was here.  
  
 _I needed to see you. I needed to hear your voice._  
  
Yeah, because that would go over well. Bones would probably commit him back to Sickbay in an instant. And that was if he was lucky.  
  
"Jim." Bones' voice was less sleepy now, less hoarse and gruff. Strangely, it almost sounded worried. "Turn around."  
  
Like a puppet on a string, Jim slowly moved around until he was facing the bed, eyes averted and looking anywhere but at Bones' face. It was going to be hard enough to stumble through whatever bullshit excuse his brain was going to come up with if he didn't have to look Bones in the eye while he did so.  
  
"As I said, it was a stupid idea. Forget that I came here, just…just get some sleep. I'll go back to my quarters and…"  
  
"Damn it, Jim! Don't tell me you came sneaking in here at…," he craned his neck to check the chrono beside the bed, "at 1:45 in the morning with no damn reason at all. Trust me, if you're going for the creepy stalker-vibe, you're definitely on the right track. But on the off chance that you didn't spontaneously turn into a nocturnal shadow that roams these halls at night, it probably has a reason why you're not asleep at this time of night. Especially after that shitfest of a day we've just been through."  
  
Jim almost threw up his hands in frustration, because it was _exactly_ the day they just had been through that was keeping him from getting my rest. " I can't sleep, Bones," he answered instead, mouth running away with him before his brain even had the chance to judge whether this was a good idea or not. "I close my eyes and it's like someone gave me a stimulant. I don't even have to bother trying."  
  
Bones rubbed his eyes again, his gaze now almost fully awake as he looked back at Jim. Worry was slowly sneaking into his expression, and Jim felt guilty for laying all this on Bones right now, when he had plenty of issues of his own to deal with. _Again with the selfishness, Jim._ Bones had died today, and yet he still couldn't leave him to get some rest. After the day they had had, Bones could probably do with some sleep, as well.  
  
"Geoffrey should still be in Medical. I'm sure he can give you something. And if he's not there, Christine probably is."  
  
It wasn't so much a suggestion as Bones' way of testing Jim. It were too many years that they had been this close now, it wasn't as if Bones couldn't read him. There was no way Jim was going to take a sleeping aid when the reason for his insomnia wasn't something physical. Bones knew that, and it was his subtle way of letting Jim know that he knew. His way of asking what was wrong without actually having to say the words.  
  
Jim shook his head.  
  
"Nah, it's not that bad."  
  
"Just bad enough for you to roam the corridors at night. Come on now, Jim. Don't try to bullshit me."  
  
Jim closed his eyes and shook his head with a sigh. "I'm sorry that I woke you. It's…it could have waited until tomorrow. It's really not that important."  
  
It was a desperate attempt, and Jim hadn't really believed that it was going to work.  
  
"Important enough that it keeps you awake at night. And I'm going out on a limb here and guess that it's also the reason why you couldn't get out of Medical fast enough earlier on."  
  
And there it was. He really should have known it was going to come to this. Bones knew him too well, could read him far better than Jim really wanted to admit, and Bones wasn't ever going to let Jim get by with a bullshit excuse if he suspected a real problem behind it. That only worked with people Jim was able to keep at a distance, and that was a boundary his friendship with Bones had crossed ages ago.  
  
Most of the times, Jim considered it a blessing. Right now, though, he wasn't too sure. Still, even though it was his first instinct, denial was pretty much useless and he knew it.  
  
Deflection, on the other hand…  
  
"I just needed to get out of there. I needed to get my head straight after everything that happened."  
  
Judged by the way Bones' left eyebrow rose and vanished behind the unruly bangs of hair on his forehead, that excuse couldn't have been less convincing.  
  
"What, so you give Chekov the concerned _pater familias_ speech and then turn around and all but run from the room, without even so much as a glance in my direction? Anyone else might have taken that a little personal, Jim."  
  
"Stop it, Bones," Jim rasped out, surprised that he still had enough voice to do so when his throat felt too constricted to even breathe, much less speak.  
  
"No, Jim." Bones sat up fully, and Jim had to turn away from the sight of his friend, all scrunched up from sleep, his clothes wrinkled and his hair a mess, but his eyes wide awake and boring straight into Jim's. "I won't stop it. And you know why? Because it doesn't take a degree in psychology to figure out that something is bothering you, and that your usual coping mechanism is going to be to bottle it all up until the next meltdown. So what the hell is going on that you couldn't even stay in the same room with me this afternoon, but come sneaking into my room at night?"  
  
Jim's eyes widened, and the muscles in his neck protested as he snapped his head to the side to finally look at Bones again. That was so wrong. It was never Bones, never his fault. It was Jim, his fault and problems alone, _his fault for letting Bones die, on his own ship, where Bones was supposed to be safe_. It was that and the fact that Jim hadn't been and still wasn't able to deal with everything that had happened. But never, not once during this mess, had anything been Bones' fault, and he couldn't let his friend think that.  
  
"It's not you."  
  
"Then what is it?" Bones let his hands drop down on the blankets with a resigned sigh. "Because I sure as hell don't understand it anymore."  
  
"You were dead."  
  
It slipped out before Jim could even think about it, before the filter between his brain and his mouth had the slightest chance to do its damn job.  
Bones just looked at him for a long moment, and for the first time in a long while, Jim couldn't quite read the expression in his friend's eyes. Eventually though, Bones ran a hand over his face, looked down on the mattress as if he was gathering his thoughts and then looked up at Jim again.  
  
"But I'm not. I'm still here."  
  
Jim _knew_ that. Rationally, he knew it, but he couldn't get those images out of his head, couldn't stop his hand from feeling the phantom sensation of Bones' chest lowering underneath his hand, not to rise again. He wanted nothing more than to erase those memories from his mind permanently, but they kept rising to the surface as soon as he closed his eyes.  
  
"I know." Jim had to clear his throat and swallow to stop his voice from sounding too raspy. "I know that, Bones. But I was there when you died. I watched you die, and it doesn't make sense anymore."  
  
"Listen, Geoffrey, Spock and I were all over this before I left Medical. I wish I had an explanation I could give you, but I don't know what the hell happened earlier. The readings suggest that there might have been continuous minimal brainwave activity even after cardiac arrest set in. The biobed sensors wouldn't immediately have picked up on it…"  
  
"I know what I saw, Bones!" Jim couldn't rationalize it all away like that. Even if this was the one thing that could explain everything that had happened, Jim knew what he had seen. Bones' death had been real to Jim. His grief had been real, and it was still threatening to choke him at the mere thought of losing the other man.  
  
"I was standing right next to you when you stopped breathing. I know what I saw, all right? You were dead, so don't you give me some bullshit explanation about brainwaves and minimal life signs! You were _dead_!"  
  
"So was Chekov," Bones said softly, and something inside of Jim gave a painful twist.  
  
He was right, of course. Bones had made a habit out of being right. But Chekov wasn't Bones, and even if that was something Jim was never going to say out loud, something he barely dared to think, today he had learned the extend to which this truth dominated his life.  
  
"I know. And that…damn, I don't want to imagine it. I…when Chekov died, it was bad. I mean it. When M'Benga declared him dead, I couldn't stand the thought of it. And I thought it couldn't get worse. But…" _He's not you._ "Then you stopped breathing, and it was. It was worse, and that doesn't mean I wanted him to die or anything, but…God, Bones. It was _you_. And the thought that you were dead was…"  
  
A warm hand around his wrist stopped Jim in the middle of this rant and he was grateful, because he wasn't too sure he could have stopped otherwise. But Bones didn't say anything, didn't _do_ anything either, for that matter, and Jim found himself staring into those hazel eyes for the longest time.  
  
And suddenly, he got it.  
  
It had taken him a while to get here, and he had no clue whatsoever how he could have missed it for so long, but finally, Jim understood. Looking into those deep hazel eyes that seemed almost green in the dim light of the room, all the pieces suddenly slid into place, and the only surprise really was that the picture they formed didn't look anything like Jim had expected. Or maybe, the only surprise was that it really was no surprise at all.  
  
Jim needed Bones.  
  
He needed the grumpy, sleepy doctor who was still blinking owlishly against the dim light of the room, hair standing up at odd angles all over his head as he squinted to get a good look at Jim, and he probably needed him more than he had ever needed another person in his life before.  
  
 _Always so selfish and needy, Jim._  
  
He ignored the nagging voice in the back of his head because it really wasn't either selfish or needy, and because now he finally _understood_. He understood why a life without Bones was an unthinkable thought, and he really didn't understand why he hadn't seen it before when it was all so clear to him now.  
  
He looked at Bones like he was seeing him for the first time, like something vital had changed within the blink of an eye. By all appearances, Bones still looked the same, sleepy and a slight bit confused, and Jim had to suppress the sudden urge to reach out and run his finger along the line of the pillow crease against his cheek, tracing it across the stubble lining Bones' skin until it vanished.  
  
This wasn't just a need to have the other man around, the fear of losing the best friend he ever had, this was running so much deeper and Jim was only slowly starting to understand it. Slowly but surely, all those emotions he hadn't really been able to deal with for the past hours started to make sense, and his heart did a funny leap in his chest at the realization. _Bones_. He wanted, he needed Bones, and nobody else.  
  
"Jim?"  
  
At the sound of Bones' voice, Jim blinked and forced himself to look at the other man, who was looking back at him almost worriedly.  
  
"I can't lose you," he rasped out, the truth of that statement rolling heavily off his tongue even though he couldn't really remember if this was the answer Bones was looking for or not. He had lost track of the thread of this conversation a while ago.  
  
Bones held his gaze, but the confusion was still evident on his face. "Jim, what's going on?"  
  
What was going on was that Jim had had the best damn thing in his entire life right in front of him for _years_ , and it had taken actually losing Bones for him to realize it. It was all a confused mess in his head, though, and Bones was still looking at him as if he was expecting an answer Jim wasn't too sure he was ready to give. And before the conscious and rational part of his brain had the chance to finally wake up and get its say, Jim leaned forward and pressed his lips against Bones'.  
  
The angle was awkward, and in all honesty Jim's brain was still far too occupied trying to make sense of what the hell was happening, but Bones' lips were warm and dry against his, and all Jim could think was how _right_ this felt. His heart had to be pounding a mile a minute, and if any alarm klaxons had sounded at that moment, Jim would have missed it completely. Bones wasn't kissing him back, but for one glorious moment, Jim reveled in feeling nothing but this kiss.  
  
But then Bones was pulling away, gently, but still determinedly enough to bring some distance between them, and something shattered inside of Jim at the rejection. Of course Bones wouldn't want…it was stupid, and selfish, and quite probably Jim had just ruined things between them irrevocably.  
  
Hazel eyes were boring into his, wide open with honest confusion, and it was all Jim could do not to drop the gaze, turn around and run as far as he could.  
  
"Jim, we can't…"  
  
Of course not, and Jim had been stupid enough not to think before he acted. Just this once, when it really mattered.  
  
"Bones, I'm sorry, I…"  
  
But Bones only shook his head. "No Jim. I get it, and it's not…you've been through the textbook definition of a high-stress situation, and such a reaction is really not that uncommon. You thought you lost two crewmembers, that's one hell of a trauma right there, and with the added sleep deprivation…"  
  
Bones was babbling, Jim realized. After the first crushing moment of rejection, his brain finally caught up with what was going on, and he realized that Bones might have pushed them apart from their kiss, but his hands were still holding on to Jim's arms, and he wasn't really meeting Jim's eye as he coughed up that psychology textbook crap about the trauma of near-loss. And maybe this whole emotional mess he had been in for the entire day was screwing with his perception, and maybe he was on the way towards screwing this up royally, but Jim had already taken the plunge, and he was not going to take it back.  
  
"No, Bones. No. Don't. This…maybe I'm an emotionally stunted idiot for not realizing all this sooner, but you can't just rationalize this away. This wasn't just about nearly losing two of my crewmembers, for crying out loud! And of course I care about Chekov. I don't even want to think about losing him, but that…"  
  
Jim had never been the kind of person who couldn't find the right words when it mattered, but right now that ability seemed to have up and left him without prior warning. Helplessly, he looked up at Bones, seeking out his eyes in the hope that the other man was still following what he was saying. Bones' expression was guarded, but he made no move to interrupt, and Jim realized that the only way he was going to get out of this again was with the truth.  
  
"It doesn't even compare, Bones. I can't lose you. I just can't. It scared me when you got infected, and when we realized that there was no cure…the moment M'Benga ordered you to inject yourself with that tranquillizer and I realized that this was probably going to be the last time we talked, it tore me apart. I can't lose you, Bones. It doesn't make sense without you, and it took me a while to get it, but this is no delayed stress reaction. I know what I'm doing. It's probably the first time in a long while that I really know what I'm doing."  
  
He nearly laughed, because suddenly, it was all clear in his head, and putting the realization that had slowly crept up to him into words actually felt like a relief. "You're the best damn thing that ever happened to me, Bones. And that's more than friendship. I had to lose you to realize that, and there are no words to describe how screwed up that is, but that doesn't make it any less true."  
  
And maybe he was still too much of a coward to actually say the words out loud, but Jim kept looking into Bones' eyes, and he saw that the other man had understood what he wanted to say. For a long moment, neither of them moved, and Jim became acutely aware of the warm pressure of Bones' hands still resting against his arms, caught somewhere between holding onto Jim and holding him at a distance.  
  
Time for one final plunge. This time though, it took far more courage than the first. But Bones was making no move to push away, and Jim took that as the encouragement he needed.  
  
"I'm calling do-over."  
  
Dark brows drew together in confusion, and Jim felt the corners of his mouth tug upwards almost imperceptibly.  
  
"I'm going to kiss you again now." Bones' eyes widened slightly, almost imperceptibly, but Jim was close enough to see it. He wasn't sure what this meant, but Bones still wasn't pulling away, and that fact alone was the only source Jim drew his courage from. Lips curling into a small smile, he leaned in a little closer, so that their faces were only inches apart. "You know, if you still think this is a bad idea."  
  
Maybe he was imagining things, but he thought Bones was leaning in a little closer. "Just…just as a warning."  
  
He really didn't want to contemplate what he'd do if Bones were to pull away. But Bones didn't move, even as Jim shifted yet another bit closer, and the last thing Jim saw as he closed the last few inches between them was the sight of hazel eyes fluttering shut. Then his lips were back against Bones', and though that last kiss had only happened a few minutes ago, this time it felt…real.  
  
Bones' lips were a soft, warm pressure against his own, and Jim's heart started to beat twice as fast when he realized that Bones wasn't pushing him away. His hands were still resting against Jim's arms, but after a few moments he felt one of them slide up his arm until the warm, calloused hand came to rest against the back of Jim's neck and pulled him closer.  
  
A small, needy sound escaped Jim's lips and he shifted, trying to press even closer, his hands fisted in the fabric of Bones' shirt as if he had to hold him in place. And somewhere, deep inside, beneath all those jumbled emotions Jim wasn't used to dealing with, he was still worried that Bones was going to push him away again. But Bones wasn't trying to escape his hold, in fact he was pressing even closer to Jim, and if it hadn't been for the need to actually _breathe_ once in a while in order to survive, Jim would have gladly spent the rest of his life like this.  
  
Jim wasn't willing to break apart fully, though, and almost automatically he shifted, nuzzling his face into the crook of Bones' neck. It was as if his body already knew which way they fit best, which places of Bones' body seemed to have been made solely for the purpose of Jim burrowing into him. He sighed as his whole body seemed to relax all at once now, and the earlier elusive fatigue was catching up with him rapidly now that Bones was here, and not pushing him away. Jim didn't think he could have kept it together if he had. Kissing Bones felt like coming home, and he never wanted to stop.  
  
Bones chuckled, a low rumble that Jim felt more than he heard it, and he realized that he must have said that last part out loud.  
  
"I didn't know you get poetic when you're completely sleep-deprived."  
  
But there was no sting to the words, just a gentle fondness – the kind that Jim had often heard Bones direct towards him before. Maybe that meant he wasn't the only one who had refused to see the obvious for the longest time. Or maybe he was just imagining things, but he was simply too tired to open his eyes and look up into Bones' face. He was too tired to do anything but lean against Bones, press as closely against him as possible, and breathe in his scent. Bones was gently running his hand through the hair on the back of Jim's head, and Jim was sure he could have fallen asleep like this, warm and content and with that panicked feeling in his gut quiet for the first time today, if Bones hadn't started to shift them around.  
  
A small, discomforted sound escaped his lips as Jim tried to hang on to Bones. But Bones only chuckled as he gently but firmly pushed Jim back into the bed.  
  
"Come on Jim, you need to get some rest. Hell, I need to get some sleep now, or else you won't want to be around me come tomorrow."  
  
Jim wanted to respond that he always wanted to be with Bones, tired and grumpy or not, but it was all he could do to kick off his boots before Bones maneuvered him into a prone position on the narrow mattress. Bones' body was deliciously sleep-warm against him, and with a sigh Jim stretched out on the bed as Bones spread the blanket over them both and pulled Jim in close.  
  
By all rights, the bed should be too narrow for the two of them, but somehow it didn't feel like too little space as their bodies aligned almost automatically. It felt known and comfortable, not like something new but as if they had always shared the same space. Jim sighed as his body all but melted into the bed, but still there was a small nagging feeling of doubt in the back of Jim's mind. It felt too easy, and if there was one thing Jim had learned in his life, then that the good things in life didn't come this easy. There had always been a strong friendship between them, but what if Bones was simply being indulgent right now so that Jim would get some rest?  
  
He didn't think Bones would go that far, but Jim couldn't help the feeling that this was too good to be true, and that come tomorrow morning, all of it would be gone again.  
  
"I mean it," he mumbled against the fabric of Bones' shirt.  
  
"Hmm?" Bones hummed, his hand drawing lazy circles against the back of Jim's head.  
  
Jim shrugged, but still didn't quite dare to raise his head and look up at Bones.  
  
"This. It's not the exhaustion, or because of what happened today. I mean it. And…and it's okay if you don't…if this is friendship for you and nothing more. I…"  
  
"Shut up and finally go to sleep, Jim." Bones' voice was gruff, but his hand was gentle against Jim's hair. "I'll still be around tomorrow. There'll be time for this."  
  
Just a day ago, Jim would have taken it for granted that Bones was always going to be there, but after this day, he wasn't sure of anything anymore. Bones tightened his arms around him and pressed him more firmly against his chest.  
  
"Never been just friendship between us."  
  
He was right, Jim realized as Bones' lips gently pressed against his forehead before he ordered the lights out. It had always been more than that, different and standing apart from all the other relationships in Jim's life. And maybe this was the natural order of things, the way it was supposed to happen at one point. He really didn't know, but lying here with his arms around Bones, it wasn't too hard to imagine that this had been coming for a long time already.  
  
"Stop thinking, Jim," Bones grumbled, shifting slightly on the bed. Jim adjusted to the movement almost without conscious thought. "Finally go get some sleep."  
  
And with the reassuring feeling of Bones' chest rising and falling slowly and regularly against his own, Jim closed his eyes.  
  
  
 ** _The End_**


End file.
